Doctor's Visit.

Doctor’s Visit

The stethoscope is cold and slick to the touch.

I don’t know what brought me here, to this place-

The place with the four white walls and the hard table,

The place with the doctor prodding here and there

And everywhere else.  Does this please them,

Every time I come here, coughing up hundreds of dollars

Just for one exam, only to have them say, “You’re well,

You can go home?”  Then when I get home, I become

Stuffed up as a hen, and have to buy the meds and call

The doctor again, and he’s always wanting more-more

Visits, more money, more talks about my life and where it’s

Going, or the books I’ve read.  When, sometimes, I haven’t

Read them at all, I’m just trying to strike up a conversation

Since I have no companionship at home.  I am more alone

Than I ever was when I go to this place with the white walls

And the cool-looking nurses, and the bitter doses of pills

That enter through my throat and down into my stomach,

And sometimes I just wish I wasn’t here.