Saturday, July 1, 2023



There are two kinds of surgeons

Those who say “cut to cure”

And the ones who prefer “heal with cold steel”

The difference between them is dispositional

One brings the cheese to the cracker

And the other the cracker to the cheese

One cuts the Swiss so thin 

You could use it as a shroud

The other shreds a hunk of mozzarella

Like a woodsman whittling at a walking stick 

One says who cut the cheese?

When he smells flatus 

To make his kids laugh

The other one rolls his eyes

While spreading Camembert 

Across a toasted bone.

They are also very much alike

Both will end up divorced 17 times

And all alone

Both have a soft spot

For self estrangement

Both “forget” to lock the front door

Out of respect for the karmic

Spirit of surgical misadventures,

In case she decides one night

To visit him while he sleeps

And cut his throat.

There is a third kind of surgeon

The one who says 

“Never let the skin stand

Between you and the diagnosis”

This one is a real bastard

He drives a Bentley

And stiffs the caddy at the club.

Your job is to choose the surgeon 

Who stands alone in the twilight

Surrounded by weeds and trees

Pinching a scuffed white moon

Between his finger and thumb

He never says a word at all


1 comment:

Oldfoolrn said...

I was always skeptical of surgeons who boasted about their aptitude for saving lives. A neurosurgeon on Instagram even has lifesaving boasts tattooed to her body. I wonder what her glioblastoma patients think of that... (false advertising?) I'm not very religious, but I always remembered what "Red" Duke, the Texas trauma surgeon espoused, "I don't save lives, God does. My job is to entertain him while he decides what to do."