Exactly how much notice should I give
to little bumps that feel like fat or bone?
Disdaining waiting rooms is how I’d live,
and waiting for a change in shape or tone.
The symptom tends to worsen or to shrink –
it doesn’t have a name the doc will know –
and odds are I’m not treading on the brink
of peril, but exploring some plateau.

My mother sees three doctors every week.
My friends go in for screenings once a year,
who screen the cable shows for each unique
anomaly infecting us with fear
at least, and viruses or mutant bugs
at worst, for us to decimate with drugs.