by Jacob M. Appel
He bled our girls’ fevers, poulticed their burns,
Stayed up with Baby Ida to the last,
Attentive to our most trifling concerns,
His bearing proper, as befits our caste.
So pleased was I to learn that this young friend
Showed literary skills of great acclaim
Having dabbled in verse—and sonnets penned!—
Myself, in my own youthful quest for fame.
Alas, I am grieved dearly to report
His poems are not formally designed,
But rather scribbles of a modern sort
That elevate the brow but not the mind.
So much depends
on hens of gray,
Jacob M. Appel is the author of the novels, The Man Who Wouldn’t Stand Up and The Biology of Luck. He practices medicine at the Mount Sinai Hospital in New York City. More at: www.jacobmappel.com