Poem by Edgar Albert Guest

The Doctor

I don't see why Pa likes him so,
  And seems so glad to have him come;
He jabs my ribs and wants to know
  If here and there it's hurting some.
He holds my wrist, coz there are things
  In there, which always jump and jerk,
Then, with a telephone he brings,
  He listens to my breather work.

He taps my back and pinches me,
  Then hangs a mirror on his head
And looks into my throat to see
  What makes it hurt and if it's red.
Then on his knee he starts to write
  And says to mother, with a smile:
"This ought to fix him up all right,
  We'll cure him in a little while."

I don't see why Pa likes him so.
  Whenever I don't want to play
He says: "The boy is sick, I know!
  Let's get the doctor right away."
And when he comes, he shakes his hand,
  And hustles him upstairs to me,
And seems contented just to stand
  Inside the room where he can see.

Then Pa says every time he goes:
  "That's money I am glad to pay;
It's worth it, when a fellow knows
  His pal will soon be up to play."
But maybe if my Pa were me,
  And had to take his pills and all,
He wouldn't be so glad to see
  The doctor come to make a call.

1. Laughter
2. The Home Builders
3. Home (It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home)
4. About Boys
5. The Handy Man

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