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An Aneurysm Poem

One normally needs to listen to a doctor. When this doctor makes poems, it sparks curiousity. When this poem happens to be realted to aneurysms, we simply applaud....and listen !

The Uinveristy of Chicago College of medicine published this piece by a doctor, Ajay Wasan , in 1993.

This student-edited journal is published annually by the University of Illinois at Chicago College of Medicine, Department of Humanities. It features writing and visual arts created by medical students, staff, and faculty at the college and associated institutions. The journal has been published continuously since 1984 under the mentorship of Suzanne Poirier, Ph.D., Associate Professor in the Department of Humanities. 

My tire has an Aneurysm

 Along the route to the factory outlet mall on the maliciously flat interstate midway between Tucson and Phoenix, Arizona

the scalding red gritty sand layers my windshield like slivers of Royal Danish crystal fallen on a parquet floor

With eight foot green, pointy headed, bilimbed cacti

a gauntlet of witnessing guards

To the horizon stippled by the minor juts of the mountains partly obscuring the sun like the towers along a castle wall in whose courtyard lives the ugly Beauty of the Sonoran desert


my first completely paid for car begins to shake like a silent baby in pain, exhausted from crying

I pull over to the side of the road

There is a four inch rubber bubble sticking out of the side of my

factory-issue right front tire

A grey defect of stretched black disrupting the sooty symmetry of my wheel perhaps too tired of spinning on the unforgiving Arizona asphalt

I gingerly push it in with my finger, but it pops right back out

If I were to poke my nails into the membrane pouch it would blow flatulent radial air into my face

Maybe this is what my doctor meant when he said I have an aneurysm in my aorta

 A defect in my blood filled internal rubber tire

Maybe it would burst

Right now

I would never make it to the discount mall

 With regular maintenance, I always thought my car would drive forever

But it can also end up on the side of a hot dusty road with no other car for miles

The doctor says he can patch my tire, with a white-walled graft like new

I kick my tire like an old king helpless in a shrinking realm

The right front axle falls on my foot

Now I am getting two operations

Ajay Wasan

Class of 1993

Volume X (1994)