Waiting For Good Doc

hospital, with its antiseptic ambiance,
our top temple of impeccable hygiene,
its priest-oracle, the doctor, 
not yet in.


weary wallclock looks bored, tired of ticking,
pulls and drags time at an arthritic pace
with anemic hands around its 
palsied face.


at last, white coterie thrums down the hallway,
doc's rounds complete, everyone must wait in place
for his crucial diagnostic curse 
or praise!
Copyright © | Year Posted 2010

Poem

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