as an old-timer at the doctor’s office

this review came to me while waiting to be examined:

everything in the examination room is younger than I am. and cleaner.

I may or may not have more teeth, but less clear running water. I’m darker.

my temperature isn’t comfort controlled. I think I’m smarter than any

groupings of utilitarian stainless steel implements, but I don’t know.

my doctor is half my age and calls me "Mr. William" in a loud voice,

accent on the "Mr." which he musically elasticizes when he enters the room.

he specializes in “sports medicine” which beforehand I came to realize

was a bonafide medical practice,–– so I instinctively told him

I played left field in order to get a leg-up against the competition. 

there seem to be three other examination rooms like this one.

that's why I'm here; to be examined. today it’s this room, called "suite 2"––

a quadruplet. they look alike and dress alike and speak the same language.

they all know the pressure of my blood and keep official records concerning

the clarity of my lungs.

appointments are scheduled every six months which on the positive side

could mean another six down the road. it keeps me on my toes, examining

the examination room while considering the future of medicine.