Hospital Waiting Room. Poem by Michael Walker

I strode throughthe corridors of doubt
to the expectant waiting room.
The room was full of strangers
and piles of women's magazines
which are in every doctor's surgery.
My fellow travelers awaited the call up
from the nurse to the clinic.
I was thinking, ' The scans and X-rays? '
'Are they a consistent colour and tone? '
'Are there any dark spots or white glow? '
'I want to interpret the transparencies onscreen
and give myself an all-good, all-clear diagnosis'.
'No one is infallible not even a specialist'.
'Even CT and MRI scans might not be conclusive'.

Just then a uniformed warden walked on by
handcuffed to an unfazed prisoner-patient.
The two of them looked almost in good humor
as they left us, prisoners of tumors.

3,4 December,2019.