My primary physician,
Along a questionnaire,
Staged an inquisition
In his office where,
I by definition,
Patient of his care,
Failed to give permission
My psyche to stare.
Looking in my eyes
With his light projector,
“Checked your smoke alarms,
Monoxide detectors?”
How’s passing your time?
What music do you like?
“Do you wear a helmet?
When you ride your bike”
Every test a choice,
Statistics, scripted spelling,
Breathless was my voice,
Arrested there my welling,
Laid out before my life,
My information hexed.
This scientism’s rife
With joints and jerks reflexed.
Cucumber Lodge 