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Doctors

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

Written by Sara Fielder © 2012

poem by Sara Fielder
Added by Poetry Lover
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