DR SMITH

 

Said Dr Smith,

‘I study diseases,

From plague and ague,

To coughs and sneezes.

There’s really naught

I’ve yet to meet

That I’ve not cured,

That’s got me beat.’

‘Oh,’ said I,

‘That’s good to know,

For what I’ve got,

What I can show,

Is past all ken,

Beyond all reason,

And far far worse

Than coughin’ and sneezin’’

‘Right,’ said Doc,

‘Start at the top.

Say what occurs

That I must stop.’

‘Well,’ said I,

‘See my hair?

It goes quite numb

And creeps from there.

My arms go weak,

My ears go pop,

My nose starts to run,

And my head just flops.

My knees are jelly,

My feet like lead,

All I want

Is to stay in bed.’

‘I see,’ said the doctor,

Perplexed indeed,

‘A stranger case

I’ve rarely seen!

Tell me now,

How old are you?’

Why, Doc,’ said I,

‘I’m twenty-two!’

‘Twenty-two!’

The Doc exclaimed.

‘You’re mighty small

For one that age.’

‘It’s mothers fault,’

I replied.

‘She always made me

Eat snail pie.

She never gave me

Sweets or cream,

Of butterscotch

I’d only dream.’

‘How sad!’ said Doc,

‘And what of school?

Did you enjoy

That learning tool?’

‘I was top

In every class,

There’s nothing that

I failed to pass!’

The Doc looked wise

And rubbed his chin.

I certainly

Had baffled him!

‘And now that you

Are old enough

To have a job,

And all that stuff,

Tell me what

It is you do

To make sure cash

Gets through to you?’

‘Why!’ said I,

‘I sell fast cars

And pickled frogs

In old jam jars.

I write long books

And sing sad songs

And travel far

And travel long

To distant lands

Where spices grow,

That I can sell

When I come home.

I fly on wings

Of pure white doves,

Across the moon,

Towards the sun.

I never sleep,

Too much to do!

I’m much too rich

To take a snooze!’

‘Well, there you have it!’

Cried the Doc.

‘It’s plain to see

Why you’re so crocked!

One so wise, so smart

And keen

Who’s lived so much,

So much has seen,

Is bound to find,

Just once or twice,

A certain loss

Of enterprise.

The numbness

That just leaves you drained,

Is really numbness

Of the brain!

I prescribe

A year or two

In reality,

It’s good for you!

You see, young man,

If truth be told,

I know you’re really

Nine years old.

We all pretend,

When we get bored,

To be something

We’re really not.

But one must not,

For goodness’ sake,

Forget what’s real

And what is fake.’

And with those words

The doctor smiled,

Put down his pen

And stared a while.

‘You see,’ he said

In whispered voice,

‘I myself have

Made the choice.

I am no Doc,

No medical man.

In my real life,

I drive a van!’

And with a huge

And deep guffaw,

Off he ran out

Through the door.