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We’re thrilled to introduce you to a brand-new chapter in The Alembic’s history. For the first time ever, we’re offering an audio edition of the journal—an exciting new endeavor for 2025. In this edition, you’ll hear every written piece read aloud by Providence College students, bringing a new dimension and life to the written word.
Oh dear, our lady’s running late—
it’s just like her to make us wait;
I see her right arm’s in a sling,
too helpless to do anything;
last week it seemed to me I swore
it was her left arm that was sore.
I see a plaster on her knee
to soothe her latest malady
and crutches, which just goes to show
she suffers from a gouty toe;
here comes the footman to prepare
the proper padding for her chair.
She will inquire how you feel
the better to commence her spiel;
she’s read up on the recent cures
to mitigate nervous seizures;
she has a guide to all the spas
which specialize in menopause.
She’ll talk to you without reprieve
about ailments you don’t believe;
like Madeline Neroni, she’s
coquettish despite her disease;*
her vulnerability’s designed
to hypnotize the gallant kind.
The menu needs to be replaced
with some fad diet of bean paste;
we’ll have to move the furniture—
she’s bringing a daybed with her.
Not unlike Mrs. Churchill,** she’s
besieged by her infirmities.
Whatever plans we try to make,
she’ll quash them with a sick headache;
Her pets are taking boluses
to clear up their bad sinuses;
her servants all have ouchy backs —
like her, they’re hypochondriacs.
Our lady had another spell—
somebody fetch the quinine gel;
she wants her doctor on alert
despite the fact that she’s not hurt;
does he make house calls late at night?—
it could be a brown recluse bite.
If anyone dares call her out,
she’ll do worse than repine or pout;
she’ll call for leeches and get bled
to punish us for what we said.
Our lady hopes that her doctor
is dumb enough to marry her.