Ann J. Brady

HOT FLASH

I woke up drenched
bothered by my faulty hormonal thermostat.
“This is worse than living in a swamp.”
The heat lasted longer than a flash.
“Must have been a man who named them.”
What do men know?
I told my doctor about them
he didn’t look up as he scribbled,
my hot flashes permanently recorded.
I picture
some unhappy male insurance clerk
with a vendetta
denying me coverage
because I bitched about hot flashes.
“Screw him.”
I flipped my pillow
let the underside cool my cheek.
My husband sighed in his sleep.
He didn’t hear me either.