Game Poem by Stefanie Fontker

He longs to play doctor
This is the job for me,
He would declare firmly
Hands made to shape,
To perfect all those
Ugly little bumps and
Hideously large bruises
He set out into the world
Equipped with a sterile thumb
And so with his heart
He cut into more than one
And with his scalpel
He did often love
Many women, many men
He touched all with a pulse
There was no discrimination
And not a fine in sight
Only blood, a lot of blood