Health Care

"We all have things to do, you know, and, anyway,
Our hands are tied," the portly matrons in the
Doctor's office curtly say to me before they start
To slaver at the thought of having lunch. I spend
The day in howling pain. I need another bottle
Of the opiate I had before, but I can't get one. There's
A snag. My doctor has to certify to my insurance
Company that I am not some abject addict bent
On getting wasted on the dimes of others with
Insurance. There's a lot of paperwork, and all
The matrons do their best to try to stay away
From it (until they've ordered lunch, at least),
And all the doctors hate to have to search for
Where to sign their names, and, so, the bottle's
Not replaced, and, so, the pain, emboldened,
Circles in, and thrills to hear me howl. The matrons
Stuff their faces, and the doctors plan to get away,
And I writhe on a chair at home. I am of no concern
To them. They all have things to do.




Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2018-01-13 at 01:15

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Ashe The PoetBay support member heart!
The war on opiates has started by hurting the millions of people who depend on these drugs to find the few addicts. I hope it works better than the War on Drugs that destabilized all of South and Central America turning them to violence.
What horrible lack of compassion that clinic showd you. This poem made me cringe at the thought of being denied necessary pain control.
Ashe
2018-01-13


josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
Constant pain is a horrible debilitation. I wish you well, Larry.
You write about the healthcare system. Any system that earns its profits from third parties breads the staff nd ttitudes you so well describe. What is amazing to me is that there are those others who give a damn about patients and go the extra mile for them. Hope you find a champion among them.
2018-01-13