poem

The Malingerer I am a malingerer,The boy who cries wolfWhen the sheep are already dead.I eat with false teethAfter my own were all pulled,And now my smile cuts like knives.I am shielding my cardsSo no one else can seeIt isn ’t just cats that have nine lives.I don't want to go to work.I don't want to cook Or clean my hairOr beat the dusty rugs with brooms.My limp is a ruseI use to excuseA tendency to run lateI have a short fuse But always the first To back down from fate.My anger is the thin patina Coating sensitive skinThat festers with raw wounds.My stutter buys me timeTo find the right words.If I ’m half deafI can ’t be expected to hearYour frustrated sighs.If I claim cataracts or double visionYou can't expect me to seeAll the beautiful shellsYou collected from the beach.This is a confession.My fake cough is pure theaterFor when I ’ve forgotten my lines.When I ought to say I love youI can say lost my voice.It ’s not my fault.You can ’t get hurtIf you don't play the game,If you can't be up on stage.Let me show you foldersFull of fake doctor ’s notes.I say I am a hemophiliacSo even a small bruiseSignals an unwarranted risk.Of bleeding outEven when your blade is dull.I cry when I ought to laughI scream when the house is empty.I leave when the carafe is full.You see right through me.You know I ’m not ill.You know I am hale and hearty,That these laments are a series of unserious jests.Truth is, I am as hard as my unbroken bones,As impregn...

Source: Buckeye Surgeon - January 22, 2021 Category: Surgery Authors: Jeffrey Parks MD FACS Source Type: blogs