At the doctors.
By jasperhatsoff
- 869 reads
‘I left the house without a scarf today.’
I say. She smiles and, encouraged, add;
‘Yesterday in Ayr it was 12 degrees.’
and throw in some incidental detail,
like the price of daffodils,
or the nub of a crocus I saw on my way here,
newborn ears folded together.
Wet from birth.
She bites her lip in concentration and,
on cue,
I assume the kind of distracted expression
which can only mean
I am assembling
a shopping list,
or thinking about the fact
I need to change
my duvet cover,
or making plans for the future.
When really, I am only looking
at the way the light from the
bare bulb above
hits the laminated sign
beside the sink, which says
‘Please wash your hands’
in no-nonsense black ink.
This is the procedure I carefully
follow, while she, cautious now,
lays her instruments upon
white cotton
and asks me what I had for breakfast
‘A croissant’, I say
and she hits the vein.
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Comments
'I say. She smiles and,
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Aah, I see. Personally I
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I wouldn't bother commenting
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