Doctor Poem by Jean Bernard Parr

astronaut babies
with semi-detached mums
lip chewing, anxious
on mobile phones
the secretary is
behind protective glass
adjusts lorgnette, later
she will tidy the magazines
and add the Horse and Field
for a touch of class
there's a notice board
with not enough pins
and on it the symptoms
of some nasty things
doctor will see you now
doctor, doctor
there's something wrong
but its not you, you're in a dream
somewhere in this drum-skin room
there are muted voices, hiss
of water, emulsioned walls that
give away nothing
save bottled babble from a womb
I can't hear the words
to the radio song
outside in too bright sun
thin grass is trimmed
the machine sputters
an algebraic proof
that things go on and on
the young men whistle
troop up to the girl with
the sandwich van
doctor, doctor
there is something wrong
I can't remember the words
to the radio song