[David Callin]

They take me out, as if I were a bun
emerging from the oven, nicely done,
or one of Lord Carnarvon’s photographs.
“I feel like the Mummy!” No one laughs.
The nurse stands by, in case she needs to help
me back into my reassembled self.
My partner is still reading in her chair.
We move toward the unrestricted air,
not looking back, although the chances are
that this is not goodbye but au revoir.
(My eyes dazzle briefly, as they might
for blinking Lazarus surprised by light.)
After a coffee and a quick sit-down
we take a waiting taxi into town.

[Marshall Begel]

Nice little story! Is it a stand-alone for some generic clinic visit, or part of a longer story?

I have a tough time with the meter in the 4th and 11th lines. Try a different mummy joke, and use "rebalance" instead of "dazzle"? Also, it could be regional, but to my ear, L3's photograph, L8 toward, and L13 after don't quite fit.

[John Riley]

This set reminds me of my heart probe. The little wires ran up from the thigh into your heart? Maybe not but I’m aware of procedures and these deal with them well.

[Andrew Frisardi]

This series of related poems is a poignant pleasure, David. I smiled at the rhyme pair “are / au revoir.”

I’d consider putting a full stop at the end of line 2, since it seems odd that they are taking out the N from the contraption like a photograph, whereas the bun simile works great. If you agree, you could change the start of line 3 to “I think of.”

Also, since line 4 is missing a beat (“I FEEL like the MUM-my!”), I think it would sound better iambic-pentametered like the rest.

I hope this series is all published together at some point.

[David Callin]

Thanks Marshall. This is the fourth of four. Seek and ye shall find. We probably have some regional differences between us, but I am also not, strictly speaking, a metrical zealot.

Good to get your imprimatur, John. This isn't quite the same procedure, but you know the sort of thing I'm talking about here.

Really pleased you've enjoyed them, Andrew. Let me look at those nits you've found. I'm sure I'll find you're right.

Cheers all

David

[Jim Moonan]

.

Originally Posted by John Riley

This set reminds me of my heart probe. The little wires ran up from the thigh into your heart? Maybe not but I’m aware of procedures and these deal with them well.

Even for those of us who haven't been intruded upon to this extent (just a quick probe here, a snake camera there), it still serves me well. In that regard the poem is instructive : )

The opening two lines made me smile. It has a slightly tongue-in-cheek macabre feeling in it.

I like the use of parens to convey the shield against the light.

As I said above, I'm not familiar with the exact procedure that was performed — did they put you under? I'm wondering because of the Lazarus reference.

I agree with Andrew about a full stop after L2.

If I'm being hyper-critical I'd say that there is an oddness to the final two lines that I don't know you intended. One would think that after a procedure such as this the two of you would head home, not into town — unless they are one and the same. Or maybe you intend to say exactly what it seems to imply: you both have a busy schedule and a minor detour like a medical procedure is not going to stop the joie de vivre that the two of you give each other. I like that.


.

[David Callin]

Thanks Jim. I was not under. But I did emerge, blinking, into the light.

In my mind, each couplet is a step back towards the world, and the idea of the last two lines is just that we were finally stepping back into the world proper - "town", I thought, a nice little synecdoche for that. The detail you don't know, of course, is that we couldn't head home just then, having travelled to Liverpool for the procedure. We had a plane to catch, to go home, later. So we went to an art gallery, had lunch and then headed off to one of Liverpool's most famous pubs for a quick pint (for me, at least) before the taxi picked us up for the plane. There's joie de vivre for you.

And joie de vivre is a very resonant phrase in this context.

Cheers

David

[Julie Steiner]

Delightful.

As long as you're mentioning Lord C, why not the metrically felicitous "I feel like Tutankhamen"? Even if that's not strictly accurate reportage of what was said.

[David Callin]

Thanks Julie. That's a nice idea. And metrically more correct! Although, in the moment, it was more The Mummy (in the horror film sense) that I felt like.

Cheers

David

[Tony Barnstone]

Not so much a critique as an appreciation: I like this one. No quibbles. I enjoy the sequence, as well.