I waited in the lobby As the television blared While my mother was in surgery Me wondering how she fared Where the old ones in their wheelchairs Pushed by strangers came and went Wearing dressing gowns of cotton With their dignity a-vent And the doctors came to treat them In their valuable time Looking down upon these people Without SEEING them, like mine With their faces hid by masks So you won’t know that they don’t care Wearing paper shoes and paper hats Such that you’d never dare To waste their time by asking questions And risk seeming like a fool Just by virtue of the fact that they’ve Had twenty years of school But the sickly in their wheelchairs Keep on coming back for more Hoping they will beat Grim Reaper As he bangs on deaths dark door And the doctors with their scissors And their scalpels cutting neat Say “To hell with bedside manner You are just a piece of meat”