You didn't argue with him
Registrars quailed and more than one
Seasoned sister had fled in tears while
He was loaded, a
Private practice financing
Mansion, country cottage, horses, boat
All the trappings
A pretty if fading wife who'd put up
With a lot.
He was in his prime.
Then that bloody virus hit and he was
King no more
Elective surgery on hold
The normal feast of kudos locked down.
Despite his pride he felt obliged to muck in and
While helping turn over a punter in intensive care
He came a cropper.
When his oximeter
Fought for oxygen as he
Coughed his head off, gasping,
He knew the score,
Knew what the odds were,
Foresaw in full Technicolor
The gruesome pantomime of ICU, and
As for the horror of a ventilator...
His wife found him in the double garage with a messy
Gunshot wound to the neck
(Those golden hands betraying him at the end)
Just where a tracheotomy might be