The Innisfree Poetry Journal

www.innisfreepoetry.org

by Douglas Korb

THE DOCTORS SING TO ME

The doctors sing to me a malediction.

You are to be what you never dreamed

would be.

You.

Do not lie. The world, so general, General,

is at your feet; the dream,

an icicle in

spring.

What is father is future and what is

child: fun. Play is what I’ll be

and be will play

me.