The doctor says there’s hope,
there’s a future,
that something can be done.
He believes I can get better,
be cured,
and fix the sitch I’m stuck up in.
The doctor remains optimistic.

The doctor is telling me that
at the end of a long dark tunnel
there is some light,
barely visible,
begging to be reached.
The doctor thinks that, subsequently,
a long and winding road will also be involved,
but that after all that hard traveling,
there’s some health to be found.
The doctor believes we’ll get there
to wellness.

The doctor stated, imperially,
that it will not be easy.
That diet and therapy and rehabilitation,
all may be involved
– extensively –
for what feels like an eternity,
but that we can do it.
I can do it.
He is under the impression
that fate’s prognosis is positive.

The doctor is simply unwilling
to prescribe some damned dick pills.

Anyone got a second opinion?