With authority he swept round the midnight ward in a preppy papillon:
“Where’s that nightshift Indian doctor?
Tell him what’s needed: a brain MRI with venous angiogram!”
His consult had found her reflexes intact, pupils symmetric,
navel pierced. The nubile child, that is, with the Innocent smile
and recalcitrant headache.
Did you know that he trained under the best? He told me so.
With two hospitals yet to visit,
two doses more of hope and purpose for the old doctor.
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