Dear Sir...

To the neurosurgeon, who would not let me speak

So far behind schedule you had no time to greet

Even though, eighteen months, I'd waited for your time

You used my appointment to reduce your queue line 

I know I'm just a number to cross off your list

Still, your abrupt words struck me in gut like a fist

As when fired at with questions and tones of disdain

I crumbled to nothing, my mind screaming in vain  

For this is my life Sir, everyday without fail

Everyday precarious... becoming more frail

Came to you in desperation, just wanting advice

Hoping you could give me back some quality of life 

Yet, you'd no time for me, no compassion to give 

With hostile impatience drained my hope through a sieve

Left me with nothing and in worse shape than I'd come 

Performance of ego set to clocks ticking drum 

What I had wanted to ask you was all written down

Yet, when suggested you read it was met with a frown

As your time Sir, was too precious to waste aiding me

All my answers, to your questions, were right there to see 

So now I'm left traumatised worse off than before 

No place to turn now... how much more must I endure? 

Like you Sir... once was healthy, I did nothing wrong

Not of surrender... it’s one of fight, my swan song 

For you see I've a family I cannot give up 

Who, even though I'm floundering, surround me with love 

I guess I'll seek another then and rejoin the queue 

As time with my family is, to me, precious too 

So next time you're behind Sir... wanting someone to blame 

Please, remember these words, don't let it happen again

As your prey maybe that day at the end of their rope 

Without a family, energy... lost of all hope

As with your title Sir, comes responsibilities

Your paid to heal not bring vulnerable to their knees

I ask... how good is a doctor who's no time to care

Who has knowledge, experience... yet, no time to share

© Debbie Razey 2019 - Violet Moon Poetry