TELL ME WHAT I HAVE

TELL ME WHAT I HAVE

Tell me what I have, and be quick about it,
you who wear a lab coat,
you who drive a Porsche.

You who went to med school
and excelled at every course.

Tell me, sir, oh, pretty please,
the name of my disease.

Tell me what I have, and do not keep me waiting,
This ignorance no longer bliss,
this fear and trepidation.

I’ve sat in hallowed waiting rooms,
wearing out upholstery,

Trusting your diplomas
and the expertise they’re boasting.

Only for the receptionist
to fill my heart with sorrow,

The wizard doc is baffled,
go away, come back tomorrow.

Tell me what I have, and don’t pull any punches,
five years now of guesswork,
vague and useless hunches.

Tell me what I have, thou idiot savant,
my limbs are growing stiffer,
my body’s getting gaunt.

Come to me and spill the beans
and a diagnosis offer,

A simple loss of dopamine
or am I retaining copper?

Tell me what I have, kind sir,
pretty please as honey,

Or kindly give the bank your Porsche
and give me back my money.

-BRUCE POTTS
COPYRIGHT 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED