A scalpel, a corpse — / His beard is neat, his eyes are / Empty. Gloves hide clammy hands / Afraid of what awaits beneath
You call me on a Thursday to tell me / You were diagnosed with leukemia in October.
What happened to you? / I don’t remember / Did it hurt? / Yes boy, oh yes
I used to daydream that my first patient as a medical student would be a happy, reasonably healthy elderly woman.