Doctors

They let us and our wallets not be .
Let latter flow from deep pockets
And the smirk is great satisfaction.
Their knowledge is skin-deep fate
On our engraved foreheads where
It is caligraphed before we arrive.
Their fate grows on our foreheads.

Doctors know a stuff on foreheads
From those of us who went before
To their grey smoke by a holy river.
They read and write like rest of us.
They seem to read foreheads better
Where our fortunes and theirs are.
But their handwriting is inscrutable
Like the etchings on our foreheads.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s