Golf, tennis
even jazz has them now—
the cat who comes to hear you play,
hone your chops and
find your truth.
But it started with us,
nurses, physicians
hunched over the sickbed,
bringing to bear our senses,
skill, intelligence—
purely human, fallible.
No help from silicon chips,
telemetry, robotics.
I can still catch a glimpse
in the rear view mirror.
Those were the days
when your instrument was you,
when every patient’s truth
was his own.
—Veneta Masson
