Surgeons
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:
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."
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