The Hypochondriac and the Witch

The events of this poem happened when I was about 14 yrs old. The hypochondriac is my mother.

Dragged to the doctor:
For a tiny little cough.
Listened to my chest:
But I wasn't ill enough.

Antibiotics:
That he said I didn’t need.
Prescription written:
To placate her was his creed.

But oh! A mistake:
Why! He wrote a script for pills!
Less wisdom than doc:
I began a war of wills.

One to hold me down:
Oh I struggled; how I thrashed!
One to pinch my nose:
Bound-ar-ies I wish I’d smashed.

I can hear it still:
Evil cackle of the witch.
Humiliation:
Epic joke for such a bitch.

Read this earlier poem to discover more about the witch.