Bullet doux
- amolosh
- Apr 11
- 1 min read
Updated: 6 days ago
Albrecht Dürer, Melancholia, engraving, 1514
Disoriented, brain-fogged, down at the mouth,
I consulted Dr. Despair, my longtime quack,
who swiftly put a finger on the case,
an acute autoimmune reaction to Western Civ.
Aside from aspects of the global South,
there’s not much left that I can hack or face
—I'm allergic, above all, to all talk of “race.”
“No worries!” grinned the furibund toubib,*
prodding me amiably under my missing rib.
“Never fear—you'll not for very long suvive!”
*French slang for “doctor,” from Arabic ṭabīb.
Thursday, April 10, 2025
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