The Specialist Poem by Marshall E Gass

The first time I met the Specialist
he shut me up with a bunch of big words
which I never found in any poem. Anywhere.
(So I swore I would break the rules
and write a poem on painkillers. One day)

He had a knack of pressing a rib
and complaining about my foot.
He touched my head
and told me how badly battered my kidneys were.

I marvelled at this transmigration
of ailments from one body part to another.
(but I never dared ask him to spell it,
in case he got it right)
I knew for sure that big sounding sicknesses
always produced hefty bills to pay
the smiling receptionist who took my CreditCard
with nicely painted and sharpened) fingernails
(that she may have used as a weapon)
if the specialist got high on any of his own pills!
(it was only a suspicion)
I have no notes to prove anything.

The Specialist was my friend,
so he said
but I wondered many times why he
never remembered my first name.

The last time I saw the specialist
he was racing down the motorway
with the sharp painted nails lady
and they were both smiling.

Author Notes
www.amazon.com/Chrysanthemum-Trilogy-Part-Transition/dp/1493137840/ref=sr_1_1'>http: //www.amazon.com/Chrysanthemum-Trilogy-Part-Transition/dp/1493137840/ref=sr_1_1? s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1396992920&sr=1-1&keywords=The+Chrysanthemum+Trilogy
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