The Doctor Magnet

For Ray Loomis

It’s happened to me

my entire life.

Whenever I wear

a short-sleeved shirt

they come up to me—

on the street, in line at

the grocery store, even

in front of my wife—

people I don’t know,

male and female,

their interest aroused

beyond self-restraint,

drawn by those plump

deep red rolled up

edges like sultry

partly opened lips.

Caught up in the chase

of diagnosis,

a few even touch

without asking first,

their pick-up line

always the same:

I’m a doctor. Have you

had this checked?

They can’t help it.

Like bees to honey.