S.O.S. Medecins Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

S.O.S. MEDECINS

Analyst


To be sure, as before,
when he walks through the door,
her poor heart will again be at ease;
each imaginary ill
will be silent, or stiill, -
for ‘tis only the mind’s maladies!

When her pulse’s tremor
can’t be felt anymore,
then he’ll ask about neuroses,
why her senses shriek shrill?
why her faculties fill
with the buzzing of billions of bees.

Why tears flow by the score?
Why morale is so poor?
Why anxieties cause allergies?
Why do fears self fulfill?
Why do fantasies thrill?
and so many such symptoms as these.

Of the problem the core
is her psyche is sore,
though no dangers imperil the brain;
but the journey’s uphill
once emotions outspill,
to restore her rapport he’ll explain.

Under medical law
whats repressed must outpour,
as she suffers severely from strain;
so he’ll pop in a pill
which will last her until
she can call upon him once again.

S.O.S. Medecins

Cynic


One should set little score
on the scares of poor squaw,
when swearing her arteries freeze
Jill can conquer her chill,
there’s no chance it could kill,
fears of mice fade so fast before cheese.

Nowadays the error
most men make, I’ve heard swore,
thwhen frail females of faintness complain;
is to pander until
cash is emptied from till,
or fair dames objectives attain!

Set a trap just before
Doctor raps on the door,
Love repeat, humble pie eat to please,
Promise dress, time to kill,
plan a trip to Seville,
see, surprise, she’ll arise from her knees.

On reserves straight she’ll draw,
back to health to restore
her persona, control she’d regain;
for despite Doctor’s skill
she no longer feels ill, -
will from future depressions refrain.

It is best to ignore
scenes and swoons to the floor,
proving psychosomatic disease:
before doctor can fill
out his visiting bill,
dangers fading once granted maid’s Will.

18 January 1981


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