I knew him well. Ten years attached to his clinic
like a stethoscope dangling with ailments
I knew the carpet threads
The old painting on the wall
The posters on rheumatic fevers
Pains in the chest, nurses call
And the vague smell of antiseptic cream
Liberally applied over every visitors hands

I knew all those dangly instruments and probes
Designed in the middle ages
And given a stainless shine just now
Bright and sparkling.

I knew his receptionist too quite well
Her big *****, had just a button undone
But I had xray vision and a sharp brain to imagine
Tropical island and coconuts

I knew his voice, his signature
His way of asking questions
And his way of checking the big fat book
Of pills and potions that held his practice together

Every time he called my name out
In the reception area
He always said it funny:
The Gass rhymed with a donkey
And never with a glass.
( I corrected him many times)
But as old as he was his memory could not hold
my correct name for more than 3 seconds. He won.

On leaving his clinic, I always wished
The Tropical Islands goodbye-and winked
That 'just cured wink' like I knew
how to collect coconuts!
It never worked in ten years
But hope is not a medical condition. Thank you.

Author Notes
Ha ha.
Please check out ISBN 9781493137848-  my new book published last night. The Trilogy is better than all the poems I ever wrote. Unashamedly, promoting my book, currently on Amazon.Com and soon on all e-books.

Thank you.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago