The following is contributed by Cousin Throckmorton.

When will it end?
Between the boredom
And bourbon
I haven’t much left

Empty
Hours
And hours
Of dry books and disappointed looks

Of diabetic feet and discharge sheets

Wading through patients
And patience
Knock kneed and faceless
From hackneyed cases

A doctor
Of guile
Hiding behind false smiles
Sweating away my soul
Into a day old shirt

I’m sinking
Gradually
Then suddenly
I haven’t much left