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Medical Humanities


Ariana Levin

November 16, 2015

Room 1: twenty-year-old boy-
His beanie pulled down
To the corners of his beard.
Here because of his cancer.
His type- highly treatable
But his own- unresponsive
Unresponsive to chemo, and now
His markers are up.

In his examining table reverie
Blackberry-stained cells raced hopscotch
On lime lymph nodes- ambition. drive.
He imagined with adjectives
Teacher told the class to use
For job applications
Which he hadn’t written.
Where do you see yourself in 10 years?
Interrupted by knock; knock.

The doctor braced
Himself, against the sink,
“I’m sorry.”

Father had mechanic’s hands
Nails filed to snowy half moons
Blackened by grease-
Gripping the edge of a chair
Never meant for fathers.
Where do you see yourself in 10 years?
He cried out, careened forward
On that neutral upholstery
Placed tastefully but too far
From its parchment paper brethren.

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