Pink Ribbons

Pink Ribbons

She gave an apologetic shrug
of the shoulders,
as cold hands took hold
of one warm and sensitive breast,
gently guiding and contorting
it to sandwich between two
flat iron surfaces.

An empathetic union of the minds
took place between us, adding
a sort of warmth to the
arctic chill of the room.
Pink ribbons and pretty
smiling faces adorned the walls,
my wry face full of irony.

Hold breath, she instructed.
With pancake flattened flesh
held firmly in place, not
breathing was easy.
Nursing a now tender
breast, I waited.
A pea-sized mass of
potential woe, brought
the arctic chill back
into the room.

 

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