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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Old Ellie’s Fred, he hated Docs. Thought ‘em thick as two short planks. Couldn’t pull up their very own socks. To all the lot, he said: “no thanks!” “I ain’t sick” just let me be.“But we’ll keep you well and strong”, “The shots we give are all for free.” “Well stick ‘em, where they don’t belong.” “I ain’t sick” old Fred would say and you can’t make me be that way. I don’t need shots or pills and bills, I’ll live until my dyin’ day. Why I beat that rash in 95. Ain’t had a cold in all my life. Raised 8 kids like bees in a hive and this here’s my second wife. “I ain’t sick” old Fred would holler. Hospitals a foreign place fer me. I ain’t wearin no gown or collar un-coverin’ parts no one hankers to see. I never been inside ‘a one and I don’t care to be. I lost ma toe when I dropped ma gun. I fixed it ma self fer free. Wrapped it in an old wet towel and stuck it in the water. Lucky it was winter then, ma stump froze like it oughter. Now I’ve had lice and bumps and bruises took my lumps from what life chooses but I ain’t sick and never was ain’t no ones patient, “just because” I ain’t sick Fred would advise Don’t trust those medics no how fancy machines and fancier lies Theys shiny and new… but they’ll kill you somehow. Got names for yer ills you ain’t never heard. Their brains is always thinkin'. Bore you to death with big fancy words steal half of yo’ innards, then “consult” while yer sinkin. I ain’t sick, read my lips, Fred would say; and you ain’t sick none either. but they’ll tell you, you is, for 100 a day; While they wrap you in sheets under ether. I ain’t sick and I can’t be taken. Ya just gotta stick to your guns. Don’t falter a bit, or be easily shaken; that hospital food will give you the runs. I ain’t sick so they needin’t come callin'. Medicine men and their kind. I ain’t gullible, so I won’t be fallin’ for their speel, bout sickness they’ll find. I been hot with the fever, been chilled to the bone. I take me some whiskey or suck on a stone. I boil some root or I howl thru the night but call me a doctor and I’ll put up a fight. Now all that was back in 04, I reckon. Nine years ago from today. Fred hated those doctors all of his life for reasons that no one could say He passed at 34, too young. Refusin’ to take ‘im a cure. Was a simple cold got in his lung, but stubbornness killed him, for sure. Now yonder there’s the graveyard. Inside you’ll find poor Fred with words he carved on stone hisself: “I ain’t sick, I’m dead”
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