Life’s on the other shoe
by Raymond Holt
An ex Cranleigh village Bobby
These are the flagstones that led me to
The doctors house, where he retired.
When constant devotion to his patients
Was something that we all admired.
I see his stethoscope hanging in the hall
Cold and lonely, not under vests
Where once it listened intently to
Croaking coughing wheezing chests!
The bulging briefcase that he loved so much
A present at medical school
Now empty crusty stored and dead
Rests on the kitchen stool.
The doctor’s journals have always read
Advertisements that made him tire
Now dusty torn creased and stained
Light up the kitchen fire.
He used to knock and walk straight in
“Hello, it’s only me.”
Then climb the stairs, sit on the bed
And have a cup of tea.
There was a time when he would work
Throughout a winter’s night
But now he’s tucked up safe in bed
Until the morning light.
Now it’s golf on Monday, shopping on Wednesday
The family at weekends
It’s not surprising that throughout his life
He made so many friends.
I often see him in his Harris Tweed
“Hello Doctor, how are YOU?”
It’s strange that now he has retired
Life’s on the other shoe.
LOOKING OVER MY SHOULDER
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