Waiting Room Blues
I wish there was something worth reading
but the doctor’s waiting room
is like a home for unwanted magazines,
ancient People with pages torn out,
a scraggy looking Sports Illustrated
previewing a world series that was played
And then there’s the medical rags,
every sickly base covered
by glaring ads with grinning people
pushing every drug on the market.
Toss in the persistent cougher two seats
down from me and the woman whining
because her appointment’s already
twenty minutes overdue
and you have a whole other disease
that I, unfortunately, can’t help catching:
a low grade virus incorporating
a lack of faith on the part of the medical profession
in the interests and mental aptitude of their patients
crossed with a waning enthusiasm
for my fellow unhealthy human beings.
The only cure that I know of
is a nurse calling out my name
and a doctor poking down my mouth,
listening to my heart beat
and making me deep breathe.
In the MD’s knowledgeable hands,
I can be sicker than I’ve ever felt in my entire life
but oh so much better for it.