The surgical mask, the rubber teat <br />Are singed, give off an evil smell. <br />You seem to weep more now that heat <br />Spreads everywhere we look. <br />It says here none of us is well. <br /> <br />The warty spottings on the figurines <br />Are nothing you would care to claim. <br />You seem to weep more since the magazines <br />Began revivals on the Dundas book. <br />It says here you were most to blame. <br /> <br />But though I cannot believe that this is so, <br />I mark the doctor as a decent sort. <br />I mix your medicine and go <br />Downstairs to leave instructions for the cook. <br />It says here time is getting short. <br /> <br />That I can believe. I hear you crying in your room <br />While watching traffic, reconciled. <br />Out in the park, black flowers are in bloom. <br />I picked some once and pressed them in a book. <br />You used to look at them, and smile.<br /><br />Weldon Kees<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-doctor-will-return/
