Manson, The Surgeon Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

Manson, the surgeon.

I know of a famous neuro-surgeon who retired at 65
to write a book that made him more famous
Now he is 72 and has cancer of the testicles, life
in the fast lane has ended.
In the night, he is visited by patients who died
on his table or left in a vegetive state, this I think
is caused by him performing surgery when he knew
the outcome
He tells the dead, he followed procedure, somehow
this sounds like "Follow orders" is what the guilty of
war crimes say.
He worries about getting old and decrepit needing a nurse
to wipe his bum, so undignified for a famous man.
When he visits his hospital where he reigned supreme
he is forgotten except for the relic of a porter who
salutes him, he is glad for that.
The newer generation sees him as an old man coming
for his checkup and treats him with hurried nonchalance.
Sic Gloria Mundi.