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.

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