Rage Against THe Quacks

Poem about the pleasure of modern day medicine.

Hundreds of years ago
when medicine
was magical, spiritual,  voodoo
and cures included bleeding patients
they would call you shaman, witch doctor
soother or healer
but at least you actually tried to heal
Today they call you
amateur golfer with a three handicap
and you are still bleeding
patients, bleeding their wallets dry
As little as 50 years ago
you would visit homes
on what historians describe
as a house call
You took an oath and lived
to better the lives of your fellow man
Today you move us through
like cattle being readied for the slaughter
and give each of us five minutes time
You act like we owe you praise
just for taking a minute to see us
And if you can't remedy an illness
with a simple prescription
from your magical Rx pad,
then you throw more tests our way
and recommend we see a specialist
You are all such quacks
what happened to American medicine?
Since December, two of the doctors
at the clinic I go to have quit the place
the third doctor I got to see today
said he doesn't take new patients.
And I fully understand,
if you accepted me and gave me five minutes
it might make you late for your tee time.

Author's Note

Always appreciate honest feedback.