Poetry Month, Day 2

From Good Masters! Sweet Ladies! by Laura Amy Schlitz

Thomas
The Doctor's Son

My father is the noble lord's physician,
And I am bound to carry on tradition.
With every patient that my father cures,
I learn more medicine. Ordinary sores
Will heal with comfrey, or the white of an egg.
An eel skin takes the cramping from a leg.
I know five kinds of fever, and four humors,
Bloodletting, and the way to feel for tumors.

I know the stars and movements planetary.
With one whiff, I can sniff out dysentery,
And also, I am practicing the way
To soothe my patients--and to make them pay.
They swear at us when we demand our fee,
But what man can afford to work for free?
A healthy man is careless with a bill--
You have to make them pay when they are ill.

When first you see a sick man, feel his brow
And say, "You should have called me before now!
If given time, I vanquish all complaints,
But as it is, we'll have to ask the saints.
Make sure you pray, and that your heart is quiet,
And think of ways to simplify your diet--
That trencher full of venison I see
Is much too rich! Just hand it back to me!"

After the prayer, let the patient rest,
And tell his family, "I will do my best
To fight this sickness, but I fear his fate--
It may be that you called me in too late."
Then shake your head, look serious and wise--
This sort of talk protects you if he dies.
If he recovers, it was all your skill
That brought him back to life. And that's better still.