our doctor plies his noble skills--
one potion cures, the other kills.
To heal is not a game, a race--
a dance between the grave and flesh
with partners green with rot, or fresh.
Accept the process and embrace--
the literature we gave you;
the surgery that can save you!
Depend on skill, dumb luck, or grace
negotiate another breath--
your enemy is not us, but Death!
The Reaper waits, or nears apace.
Patient in aspect and of mien--
takes possession or leaves unseen.
This is an invented form called a Constanza, which Real Toads has inflicted on me this morning. How do I hate this form? Let me count the ways: I hate that all the lines are four feet in length, making a sing-songy quality almost impossible to avoid. Over time, I have come to enjoy a lot of forms, but this one felt like trying to play tennis while wearing a straightjacket. (Some say I would look good in one!) Let's shed the jacket, and try this again...
Just a little bit longer, if you please.
Sit down. Read a magazine!
(They go back to 1983.)
The doctor is a very busy man.
He will do everything for you that he can.
Fill out this form.
Learn the French horn, try a language or get a college degree
while you wait.
From Mail Order State.
Come in, come on, stand on this scale!
Oh my goodness...
all we get are
skeletons and whales!
Were you hit by a car?
Put on this gown, then sit down.
The doctor will see you if you'll just shut your mouth,
sit here and wait through his rounds of golf.
Knock knock! Hello!
And how are we?!?
Oh yes. Oh my. Oh dear. I see.
I think we can dispense with dreary tests...
Have this prescription filled.
If it doesn't work, come back, we'll drill.
Pay up, pay now, pay through the nose!
Your co-pay is more, your coverage is less,
and all gone to receivership
of Mr. Death, our C.P.A.
Have a nice day!