I waited in the lobby as the television blared <br />While my mother was in surgery <br />Me wondering how she fared <br />Where the old ones in their wheelchairs <br />Pushed by strangers came and went <br />Wearing dressing gowns of cotton <br />With their dignity a-vent <br />And the doctors came to treat them <br />In their valuable time <br />Looking down upon these people <br />Without SEEING them, like mine <br />With their faces hid by masks <br />So you won’t know that they don’t care <br />Wearing paper shoes and paper hats <br />Such that you’d never dare <br />To waste their time by asking questions <br />And risk seeming like a fool <br />Just by virtue of the fact that they’ve <br />Had twenty years of school <br />But the sickly in their wheelchairs <br />Keep on coming back for more <br />Hoping they will beat Grim Reaper <br />As he bangs on deaths dark door <br />And the doctors with their scissors <br />And their scalpels cutting neat <br />Say “To hell with bedside manner <br />You are just a piece of meat” <br /> <br /> <br />Written by Sara Fielder © 2012<br /><br />Sara Fielder<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/doctors-13/
