THE DOCTOR Poem by Hédi Kaddour

In the circular courtyard, trees
Turn yellow, a madwoman in restraints
Watches them; all at once she starts to speak
As if nothing were out of the ordinary
And the next day she dies
Of tuberculosis, making excuses
For having been such a bother.
It is not necessary, says the doctor
To try to calm such patients down completely
They would become too bored. He has ceased
Imagining a classless society
And sometimes sits in front of the municipal
Bandshell, to listen to a brass band play
Military marches of the Empire.