you see physicians next to God, astute and tall,
not as a phony, dressed and groomed, a lowly mannequin.
We are well known as artists, scientists, we heal,
we speak Philosophy and Latin with great ease,
inside, we realise that healing is a spiel,
that each condition is beholden to a breeze.
Which, as a wind will touch the smallest blade of grass
yet not be swayed by human arrogance or hope,
but teach humility within a single pass
to just a few who understand the need to cope.
We are the doctors and you ask the question WHY,
I’ll be the first to tell you all about the HOW,
and should you wonder that your loved one had to die
I must stay silent on the subject as of now.
You think by list’ning to your heart and to your breath,
plapating, scanning auscultating, taking snaps
we’d snatch the old ones from the gruesome jaws of death
and sell the youngsters on the need for spinal taps.
We do not feel your disability and pain,
it’s YOU who suffer from a great anxiety,
and while the lab prepares your smear in vivid stain
I note your eyes in search of trust – you look to ME.
I must take care to play a role in front of you,
the word is im per tur ba bil ity, you see,
so I deceive you when I smile, you have no clue
if you’d find sympathy and empathy in me.
A final word, my suff’ring friend, don’t be a FAN,
as any pedestal admits the biggest fool,
if your physician feels the sorrow of a man,
he is entitled to a sample of your stool.