Cross caution tape to the receptionist.
Notice her polka-dotted plaster pig.
If you tip, is that anti-feminist?
Brown grass well-past harvest as her wig.
An hour in, you cling to pencil tip,
journaling is your partial partition.
A dingy in a sea of noise, you slip,
floundering in sneezy sea of sickness.
No, this poem is not your bodyguard.
Though it serves as gracious ghoonghat now.
Chances are you’re finally marred,
the doctor’s smile turns, a sickly plow.
The cancer’s found; it’s here to stay;
your brain’s on glowing, garish display.
This poem is written for d’Verse’s Thursday Night—- Middles & Turns. Peter is host tonight and invited us to write a haiku or sonnet with a dramatic turn. Join us.
Artwork: Hospital Waiting Room by Michael Salaman
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
That last couplet really turned the poem around… love the detail with the polka-dot plaster pig.
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Thanks, Björn. I’ve seen those pigs in waiting rooms here. Never seen a tip go in, though.
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a terrific opening; a catastrophic ending; what the %$$ is a ‘ghoonghat’ ??? was that word necessary?
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Come, John. Everyone knows this is vibrant headscarf worn by women in India. It’s all about preserving the rhyme. This is a most delicate sonnet. 😉 thanks. I wrote a bit of it in a waiting room, but the turn was tonight’s creation. 😆
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okay ; it’s a good rhyme though ; I’ll read it again 🙂
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btw it’s a great painting; not a ghoonghat in sight though 😦
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Yes, but it is a “protective covering’ and she is looking for shielding from the waiting room and/or unknown news, which is why the poem also contemplates women’s roles in society-at-large. 😉 giggling….
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okay: there’s more to this one that meets the eye 🙂
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I looked that word up, and I think it fit the poem wonderfully!
-David
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Thanks, David. I worried it wouldn’t resonate, but I liked it too much to pass up on it.
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“gracious ghoonghat” is such a subtle reminder of a turn that would seem to have been hiding in the wings, waiting for the “right” moment to spring itself on you.
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Thanks, Ken. I hope the silly to serious tone creates a strong turn. I appreciate you reading and commenting. Thanks.
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This is exquisitely, exquisitely drawn! I smiled hugely at; “Though it serves as gracious ghoonghat now.” 💝💝 (applauding) 🙂
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Thank you for these kind comments. It was purposeful, but yes it also served the sonnet’s greater good.
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Wowza. I was hoping it was just the flu or something, but, um, no….POW!
Perfect turn.
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Thank you, Ron. I’m glad the ending had a good turn and punch for you. Cheers!
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This is quite an ending! And unexpected, love the lead-in …. well done!!
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Thank you, kindly, Helen.
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Wow, that ending was a gut punch!
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Thanks, Lucy.
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This part got to me:
“Chances are you’re finally marred,
the doctor’s smile turns, a sickly plow.”
I hope this is a fictional poem.
Palaces of health are some of the coldest places on earth.
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Thank you for your thoughtful comments. While the waiting room is real, the diagnosis is thankfully not.
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You’re very welcome and I’m happy to hear it.
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Good, just read above, and am also glad to hear it is not true for you. That was a turn for the worse! But well done and fun getting to the somber end.
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Thanks, D. Yes, the turn assignment brought about the doctor’s plow and the worst possible news, but I think it serves for a dramatic change in tone and topic. Many thanks for commenting.
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Great turn in this – you had me rolling along – gentle smile at the pig, ‘floundering in a sea of sneezy sickness’ a great line – and then bam the turn – ‘the doctor’s smile turns a sickly plow…’ Powerful writing contained these delicate 14 lines.
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Thank you for your kind words, Peter. Has me grinning this morning.
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Oh my, that last couplet is a knife to the heart. Made me reach for my chest.
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So, a bit of a hairpin turn? Thank you for sharing this.
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What a powerful ending!
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The word ‘marred’ made me think of ‘marrow’, which alluded to the diagnosis, albeit (perhaps) unintentionally?
Yours,
David
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I was thinking of scarred and that always reminds me of surgery. But, I like how you’ve taken it even more. Many thanks for your thoughtful comment. Happy Friday!
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Shabbat shalom! ❤
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I like the way you lead us into the waiting room and set the scene with the caution tape and the receptionist’s ‘polka-dotted plaster pig’, which made me smile, as did the comment about the tip. ‘An hour in’ reminded me of past waits as an out-patient and these lines evoked the atmosphere so well:
‘A dingy in a sea of noise, you slip,
floundering in sneezy sea of sickness.’
The turn is not unexpected, but it comes as a shock all the same.
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A wonderfully atmospheric sonnet, with a chilling turn at the end!
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Very kind. Thanks Ingrid.
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Oh my! That’s quite a turn. Beautifully done. I think waiting rooms these days are even more places of anxiety (to me anyway), but then to be given that news is such a punch.
I really liked these lines:
“No, this poem is not your bodyguard.
Though it serves as gracious ghoonghat now.”
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Thank you, Merril. I quiet like the bodyguard line as well. I really appreciate your kind comments.
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You’re very welcome.
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