Arlene Corwin Poetry

                                        To The Doctor Who Examines Me

I was thinking that this body is a unit and,

If you don’t see a pattern

In the portions that go wrong,

Then perhaps you’re sitting in a chair

To which you don’t belong:

Too tired, young, or not attentive.

How I wish you’d see the symptoms

As an ocean bowl,

With rivulets connecting whole

To dams and sluices where the juices,

Pebbles, stones are formed within, all kin

To one another.

It is obvious that pain or pressure

Down a leg has a connection to the hip,

The pelvis, stomach, large intestine – let’s not skip

The knuckle bumps, hard private lumps

With their connection to the rest:

Cholesterol and stressed out parts

In hearts not happy pumping.

Always working to your best,

To fix a system that will not dissect –

One hard to see: a one-in-many,

And God knows, one hard to diagnose.

Yet it’s your job to cure,

Find sense, be sure –

Which can’t be done

Unless you see the parts-in-one

Which, failing to do

Means you’re still too

Young and blind,

Or just not paying mind

Enough attention.

To The Doctor Who Examines Me 6.30.2002  (revised 9.18.2004)

Birth, Death & In Between; Circling Round Nature; Definitely Didactic;

Arlene Corwin