Selected poems
Item 23
1.
Her chair goes back. She lifts her pitch.
She’s checked that last ignoble itch.
You know quite well that, on occasion,
she likes a little conversation
and likewise know you ought not feel
ten minutes more would be ideal.
You catch her glancing at her watch.
And thinking of a thoughtful scotch?
Is her smile what it’s been for
as she shows you out the door?
Why is it that you never share
the deeper reasons that you’re there?
Once more the news is far from drastic.
You rummage for your piece of plastic.
2.
Your doctor is away today
but, yes, another one’s OK,
an older man who’s so relaxed
you’d almost swear he pays no tax.
Your BP lately’s been quite high
but he’s an offhand sort of guy
who reads your record off the screen
to check out where his colleague’s been
and talks benignly all the while.
You’re growing to admire his style
and sense somehow that he’s well-read,
more from the tone than what he’s said.
His final phrase though makes all clear:
It wouldn’t be too cavalier...
3.
Your doctor sends you to another
just to see what he’ll discover.
Her worry proves to be ‘all clear’
but, wait, there is a problem here;
that dot she thought was background speckle
or, at the worst, a harmless freckle
is not a form of dermal static.
He thinks it might well prove dramatic
‘down the track’ a year or two.
You’re hastened to the surgeon’s queue
and so on to a skilled excision —
which, luckily, needs no revision.
Although your epic’s not by Homer
your dreams are free of melanoma.
4.
Anxiety is the state of play;
your BP’s way too high today.
You know your GP won’t have space;
you’re on the phone in any case.
The name they offer sounds exotic;
no time now to be neurotic.
He checks your BP. It’s quite normal.
His manner’s cheerful and informal.
You move on now, with some confusion,
to what you fear’s a small occlusion
in an artery or vein
that’s in the groin — but gives no pain.
He tells you it’s a wisp of plaque
(waving quietly in the dark).
5.
You’re more than grateful in your way.
You think about how every day
from 8 till 6, from Mon to Fri,
she helps defer the day you’ll die
along with others just like you,
who, worried by their symptoms too,
surf them nightly on the net
for all the wisdom they can get.
But sadly when she’s sick as well
your buoyancy is shot to hell.
Where’s the miracle you sought?
What’s not there