No Yanks
I had a patient
No – he had a doctor.
I knew his syndrome;
He knew nothing
of limitations.
He had a lesion
A knot of poison and pain
A contemptuous little brat inside of him
Laughing at an old soldier’s stupid courage.
Smiling stupid
Until I came.
But so slow!
Every condemning detail I dropped sat inert,
Like an unexploded shell in the quiet of this
annoying man’s faith.
No Yanks were coming.
Only me.
For a second, his grin faltered.
It returned, no longer absurd.
Its reason made my gut unravel.
My mind became incontinent;
It was only seconds away now.
I was going to have a patient.