The strange death of medicine

I dreamed I met
William Osler last night
alive as me and you.
 “I am bones clad in flesh”,
he said, a plastic
windpipe in accord.
We talked of the
death of medicine.
And how masks are worn,
and then become our face.
A stethoscope around his neck,
he told me too few are
chained by ethos and morals.
“What about you?” he asked.
Before I could answer,
a lady with a lamp appeared –
a fire inside her.
And everything was silent again.
All beyond the call of duty,
I thought.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s