Young and Weary
A child weeps, but from what direction?
The little boy with the clammy hands wipes his nose
On the shoulder of his mother’s satin blouse.
They wait to be called in.
Truly, just as a child weeps
Hot tears fall hard and fast and dribble across
the plastic laminate of my own badge and
soak in the stitching of my
newly pressed white coat.
They have christened me – and I damn well deserve the spotlight this one time–
Doctor.
It’s unprofessional of me, but let me tell you something.
Two decades of textbooks by lamplight.
Too many sleepless nights for this.
I have lived to see my childhood friends
Maintain prominent businesses
where we once sold pencil lead for a gumball’s worth.
But you know what? After over two decades,
I have saved what youth I once had
to give back to the young and deserving.
A child weeps, but from what direction?
It is I.
I lost one of my best friends in kindergarten.
“Lymphoma” sounds funny coming
From between baby teeth.
This is my one job, my one goal:
I will shake the ground stomping
With my family following closely behind me.
I will give the young the chance at youth.