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The man was ninety-seven and a half,
he came to see me with covert hesitation.
'Got something wrong between the left knee and its calf',
he placed his scrawny leg for instant observation
upon my desk, right next to photos, pens and pencils and the clock.
I asked the proper, probing questions on behalf
of science and its promise.'Fix it Doc! '-
was it a question or a sly, implied command?
Examination showed the utter ravages of age.
'It's wear and tear', I said, 'or milestones you might say',
a bit of lightning zigged and zagged across his face,
it showed annoyance, then, at last I heard him say:
'It is my LEFT knee that is cluttering up your table,
it's been a nuisance since the Federal Election,
and, as you know that -with the wife- I am now able
to do 'you know', but how will any of my outstanding erections
do any good, as I'm not very stable?
If only ONE leg gets you up and lets you down,
you travel sideways thus, and could lose grip and traction,
your face gets anxious then and hers will sprout a frown,
so, can you fix it Doc and get me back in action? '
And then he added 'it is not my blasted age,
nor wear and tear at 97 years,
I figure that I must have, at this simple stage
clocked up so many miles that, really, sheer
determination and pure genetics must have got me there,
frankly, I say your diagnosis is quite lame.
And, might I add, that if I had two members
to occupy my nights with pleasures, lewd,
and one malfunctioned you would diagnose 'burned embers',
I think your doctoring is quite primitive and crude.'
Herbert Nehrlich
Read poems about / on: travel, lost
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