Statistical Pain

Disciples left in droves when you
Spoke of your coming death
So pain I felt two weeks ago
Found no expressive breath.

It’s not that it was hurtful yet,
More presence that persists
A place that its not been before –
My pride – this truth resists.

One doctor said I shouldn’t be sick
Then others joined the song
If I check out this little bout
They’ll gloat if I am wrong.

I grew on crow and humble pie
Mistakes were no big deal,
I pity profs and doctor types
Who remorse cannot feel.

It’s like their system’s made for blame
Though credit’s much preferred,
When all it takes to set things straight
Swift act—decisive word.

So waiting lists are cut by tricks
Like when to start the clocks
Elites to minions spread about
Rewards for access blocked.

Almost my weary foot had slipped
Into this cesspool’s brine
This crow of wrong I’ll gladly eat
If humble life be mine.