The Examination Room

Even Doctor’s are my Friend,
for my Health I can Depend.
But I have a Bone to Pick,
in a Rhyme will Be the Trick.

Exam Rooms are Like a Cell,
though Can’t say I Know one Well.
Ushered in then Close the Door,
Wait from There is Quite a Chore.

Magazines with Turned up Pages,
Old to Oldest are the Stages.
In the Gowns I can’t Relax,
‘specially With the Breezy Backs.

Tables with That paper Sheet,
Stick to It is Such a Treat.
As I lie There want to Twitch,
wish There was a Message Switch.

A suggestion – not Bizarre,
Least should Be a Mini Bar.
Stocked with Stuff that would Omit,
memories ‘bout How long I Sit.

Then a Knock comes On my Door,
my Long Wait it Ain’t no More.
As it Opens – Foolish Hope,
they’ve Warmed Up their Stethoscope.

 

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About Bob Grant

I truly enjoy writing Rhymes. It is sort of like putting a puzzle together with words. However, I am not a Poet! I am in awe of anyone who writes true poetry. I will continue writing Rhymes as long as there are functioning brain cells in my brain.
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