Doctor’s Appointments

"Go see what they say,

Go talk to the doc,"

I'm told when I complain

in offhanded thought

of a subtle mood change

or a lingering cough,

of a recurring headache

without known cause --

"Go see what they say,

Go talk to the doc."

"But I'm fine," I repeat

Again and again.

"Wait a few weeks,

I'll be right as rain."

It's an excuse I keep

pulling out to explain

away what I need:

to eat more than lattes

and to get enough sleep --

if I did that, I'd be okay.

An appointment would mean

I would have to fill out

all those facts about me

and what diseases come down

my family tree.

I'd drive across town

to be poked and squeezed

and twirled around

and then have them inform me

of what they've found.

"You're healthy!" they'd say

"Healthy as a horse."

I'd give them my thanks

for all of their work,

proceed to stay up late

as a matter of course,

keep drinking my lattes,

and try not to complain.

"I'm healthy!" I'd say.

"Healthy as a horse."