VISITING HOURS

A nice old man, visiting
during visiting hours, of course
doing a bit of research,
examined them, sardonically
making deep "Hmmmm," sounds.
The eyes lived and moved
like little sacks of potatoes
in vaguely processional order
blushed, looking unwashed.
The same sweat
a new shade.
Only our fingertips touch
manipulated switches.
Counter.       Click.
The pinprick.
Eventually,  predictably
other specimens destined
for grunting, screaming, vomiting
sucking.    Spurting away
each successive baby
new and lost.
Thundering
blundering along
the corridor to the doorway
carrying a bottle borrowed
from the cutlery drawer.
A signal.    A summons
an endless lecture
certificates,    bucket seats
retractors
A few apologizing drips.
The ruse and the ease.
The implications of cytotoxics.