Cold, Clinical, Professional
After he was shot,
the doctor told her he would die,
he let her cry,
deep, heaving moans,
heart-wrenching groans,
pain that carried fear
beyond the realm of sorrow,
her son was certain to die by tomorrow,
the doctor hated himself during times like these,
she lost it as she fell to her knees,
cold, clinical, professional,
all went out the door,
the mother cradled like an infant on the floor,
nothing else he could say,
it was such a dark day,
but he didn’t turn away,
he was struck deeply by her pain,
her terror, her strain,
he couldn’t be cold, clinical, professional,
because times like this leaves an emotional stain.
Copyright © Frank F. Atanacio | Year Posted 2009
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