Without Doubt

Without doubt, things are

changing.  This is a lovely day.

Gone the incessant rain events,

the unseasonable spring flirtation 

with that winter reluctant to depart.

Finally, the sun is out to dry

drenched landscapes where

forsythia, tulips, daffodils and

dandelions anxiously vie for

attention and acclaim as the

first of the season, earning

our grateful adulation.

And you seat yourself 

awkwardly in the waiting room

crowded with people, wondering

exactly what you're doing there,

amongst those who are grossly

overweight and pitifully underweight,

bent crooked, stumbling, unwilling

to meet the eye of a stranger.  You

wonder why it was you dressed to

ward off cool, damp weather

and now feel constricted, hot.

Names are called and those

waiting respond, tottering to

the inner offices, their faces 

peaked, lined, pale, concerned.

You return to your book, the one

you read only in such places, a

tedious novel to match a tedious

process.  And that is why you are

there, the process today includes

electrodes and a weekend-worn

heart monitor.  Your doctor

exhibits rather peculiar whimsies.