Never apologize!

I have to get over feeling apologetic about my poems. Cuckoo as some of them may seem, they're what pop into my head and have to get out.

I thought my sinus infection or inflammation was better, but today it's much worse. And after two weeks, I still haven't received the results of my labs and CT. So a few minutes ago I phoned the clinic, forgetting that they'd all be out to lunch until 1:30 or 2:00. Anyway, I left Marie a message to get them to call me in something for the sinus, and to let me know about the tests.

I had it made up in my mind to change doctors, unless there was a good reason for "writing me a letter" (which apparently he didn't even do) instead of phoning me the test results. And not doing anything about the misery in my nose. But number one, I've tried to change doctors before, and the HMO wouldn't permit it. And number two--I forget what.

Couple of nights ago, I watched "The Sixth Sense" on TV. That's a very sad movie.
*
The poem today:

On Leaping Into Marlowe's Faust
(and Tiptoe-ing Away)

Least said, the soonest mended: I decline
The merest slight to Marlowe's “mighty line.”

For centuries, men rewrote the Faustus play,
Till how it was to start with, who can say?

I don't deny, one line my fancy grips:
“Was this the face that launched a thousand ships?”

And one more line still sticks with me, to wit:
“Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it!”

Let veils of charity the rest obscure,
And Marlowe's reputation long endure.

Too bad he's not beneath the Abbey stones;
A lonely unmarked grave received his bones.

Poor Marlowe, stabbed to death at twenty-nine!
Who could begrudge the man his mighty line?

By JRC, 6/7/2011