Pretty doctors
Two young female doctors dressed in white
wearing stereoscopes around their slim
necks as decorations, an accessory that
gave them charming dignity
Between them, looking at a computer
my name was there, they were talking
about my medical history
I tried to get a word in but was blithely
ignored, after all, I was the
patient, but my input went unheeded
They were happy with my recovery
As I packed my things and left, they were
still talking about my case
Ask what the sage would see with eyes that see right through me
to gaze at a twinkling star and that faraway look could write pages,
a book
that would be read for centuries to come.
The wise men who eye men to weigh up their worth
the harlots who scream at their birth,
who measures the value chooses the currency.
He stood proud among the wildness
his wife childless through choice.
Contemporaneous notes
could tell me
my medical history
but
Latin is a mystery and
I remain ignorant.
Hear that sound coming from your
television set
Government warning: This is not a test!
There’s no music rocking
from your radio
Only the shrill alert of an emergency signal
indicating transmission shutdown
Better put on an aluminum tin foil hat
to block out the penetrating EM waves
Unauthorized dark-net instructions
rapidly rappelling
over your cranial firewall
Audio emissions
spiking an intrusive breach
Fertile mind-control conditions,
activate the patriotic sleeper sells
Keep the pocketbook within reach
You never thought to ask
how did you get that small scar
on the side of your neck
When you went to the doctor
for a regular checkup visit
Anesthesia clouds your memory,
microchip implantation
not put on your medical history
Audio emissions
now have put someone else
in control of you
Stay on script to the program,
that’s all you can do
Can no longer block
the high-tech matrix
noise pollution coming through
Audio emissions
have made a human robot out of you
I suppose to most folks the head reposin' on Mars will e'er remain a mystery.
But I think that I have solved that enigma - 'twill surely make medical history!
Oft I've wondered what happened to the head of my ne'er-do-well Uncle Paul,
Who flew off the handle and lost his head in a scandalous barroom brawl!
That head lyin' there in peaceful repose in the crimson dust of Planet Mars,
Is the spittin' image of my Uncle Paul includin' those five forehead scars!
The inscrutable smile on the face and the bushy hair are his for sure!
The sight of those lifeless eyes starin' back at me is very hard to endure!
Thankfully, the clime of the Planet Mars has preserved his skull, it appears,
Though it has reposed on that desolate floor collectin' dust for many years.
I pray that should astronauts one day take flight and land on that celestial ball,
That they'll take pity on his grievin' kin and retrieve the head of Uncle Paul!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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Placed No. 5 in Carolyn Devonshire's "Sphinx Head On Mars" Contest - Sep 2010