THE DOCTORS by Laura Solomon
The doctors know it all, know best,
Know whether to wait or operate,
When to lock you up or set you free
And how much walking time you shall be granted.
I am at their mercy, or I was,
And hope to never be again.
They have no knowledge of compassion.
What terrible power!
Power of life or death.
One slip of the surgeon’s blade and it’s curtains;
Or paralysis—the wheelchair, or walking with a cane.
The nurses aren’t much better,
They gossip amongst themselves, scatter-brained,
Mocking my ambitions,
While they have none of their own.
This whole episode must be a set-up
Engineered by some malicious god
Playing a prank on me.
Who will have the last laugh?
The cackle’s stuck in my voice box,
From upstairs I can hear
Somebody else having a giggle
At my expense;
I am happy to provide the entertainment.
Mind you, at the risk of sounding like a know-it-all,
It must be said that back here on earth
None of them can tell me
Why it grew—this monstrosity
This lump inside my head.