Category: Health

Although I’ve taken this and that,
And tried their cures, both new and old,
Each autumn something knocks me flat
Uncommonly: the Common Cold.

by Ray Romine Thursday, September 7, 1950

Doctor, probe me there and here;
Press and thump, have fun, old dear.

Check my height and my digestion;
Make me sick just by suggestion;

That’s an arm, doc, maul and grind it;
Feel my pulse if you can find it.

Tell me that you do not give
A whole lot for the way I live.

Check my plumbing and my heating;
Note at least my heart is beating .

And my blood; there should be ample
Of it there to make a sample.

Go ahead and question: strive at
Answers I had thought were private.

Take away big strong cigars;
Keep me out of dives and bars.

Stick me on a diet neat
Of things I cannot stand to eat.

Diagnose me, smooth as satin–
Shoot it all to me in Latin.

Do with me, doctor, as you will:
But OPERATE upon the bill.

by Ray Romine Monday, March 24, 1952

“Cut out spices, liquor, smoking;
If you eat, no over-stoking;
Cut down golf, slow up on stairs;
Don’t leap out of beds and chairs.”

Simple, huh? There’s nothing to it-
If it’s fun, then just don’t do it .
One more question, Doc, why can’t we
Take me out right now and plant me?

by Ray Romine Sunday, June 18, 1950

I’ve a choice; I can live upon curds,
On a diet purloined from a cow,
Or shudder to these six words:
“The Dentist will see you now.”

by Ray Romine Saturday, January 13, 1951

By eyes are red;
By doze is sdiffly.
Would I rather be dead?
Pozzitiffly!

by Ray Romine Thursday, September 7, 1950

“An apple a day keeps the doctor away-“
There’s no argument here, if we go on to say
That no power on earth is the equal of speeding him,
Further from you than the fact that you’re needing him.

by Ray Romine Sunday, September 21, 1952

We’re told there are a lot of ways
To rest, and free oneself
From tension, worry–these fast days,
And so stay off the shelf.

I’ve tried them all with little gain,
Which prompts me to confess
It takes, to conquer stress and strain,
Too much of strain and stress.

by Ray Romine Friday, July 11, 1952

My moisture content’s figured out;
They know my breathing rate,
How many hairs I have, about,
My stride, my pulse, my weight.

They’ve nosed into the soap I use,
The sort of books I read ,
What kinds of meats that I refuse,
Which stimulants I need.

They know what makes me fast or slow;
They’ve my corpuscles counted;
They’re sure which hurdles lay me low,
And which I have surmounted.

They’ve figured out how long that I
Shall decorate this earth;
They’ve gauged for junk, if I should die,
Exactly what I’m worth.

Yet, charted, indexed, analyzed,
For all the world depictable,
I’ve that last word so dearly prized,
By staying unpredictable.

by Ray Romine Friday, August 11, 1950

The doctor said a hobby
Was just the thing I needed;
If he is out to kill me off,
He very near succeeded.

The hobby I adopted
Has made me quite unsteady.
Perhaps I should’ve told him
I had eighteen already?

by Ray Romine Sunday, December 31, 1950

Tell me, how do they arrive at
Calling this room “semi-private?”

by Ray Romine Wednesday, April 14, 1954