doctor visit

your doctor calls you
in for an appointment.
just come in, he says
on the phone. we need
to talk. so you go in
and strangely don't
have to wait.
a nurse leads you back
into an examining
room, and points
her finger, he's in
there, she says,
shaking her head
and snapping her gum.
you go in and and jump
up onto the steel
cold gurney and take
your shirt off. suddenly
you see him.
he's sitting in a chair
in the corner
smoking a cigarette
and drinking
a manhattan. keep your
shirt on, he says.
this is about me,
not you. in fact, here's
a hundred bucks for
coming, he throws a wad
of bills at you, go
ahead and count it, if
i'm short, you can
take home some cotton
balls or something.
so what's wrong, you ask
him, crossing your legs
and buttoning your
shirt back up. i'm sick
of sick people, he
says. i'm tired of
the insurance squabbles
and the mean nurses
and receptionists
that i hire. i want
out of this business.
my wife hates me, my
kids are all spoiled rotten
from giving them too
much, and my pool is
full of leaves.
so what's that got to
do with me, you ask.
well, he says,
rubbing his cigarette
out with his wing tips,
i think i'd like to learn
a trade, maybe house
painting, like you do.
hanging wallpaper.
something like that.
i thought i could work
for you, if that's okay.
like an intern, you don't
even have to pay me
for a few years.
and once i learn the
trade i'll go out on
my own. what do you think?
i don't know you say.
i'm kind of slow right
now. sure, he says, sure.
but maybe when it picks up
a little. his beeper
goes off and he looks
at the message. geez.
i almost forgot, i have
to go take out mrs.
rinaldi's gall bladder.
i have to get going,
wash my hands and stuff.
but think about it, okay,
he says. i want out.