It is Thursday afternoon, a quarter past three

When we enter the room, my partner and me

We make idle chatter, then get right the heart

Of the matter at hand, ready to start

“What brings you into the hospital today?”

The patient describes his abdominal pain

And we start to probe into his personal life

He mentions he smokes, and lives with his wife

We ask about drinking, how much and what type

We ask about exercise and exposure to light

There’s a lady in the room, and she helps him respond

To the questions we ask, when he takes too long

And she is so kind, I can’t help but say,

“Sir, your wife is too kind. Ma’am, what is your name?”

The lady looks shocked, and says “Something’s amiss,

I’m not his wife, but his daughter, if you please, Miss.”

Oh, swallow me, ground, if I’m still standing

My head is so light, and my heart’s started cramping

My partner and the patient are laughing so hard

But my confidence has shattered into thousands of shards

The daughter looks angry, and I’m so ashamed

I forgot the most basic of rules in this game

To think before speaking, and check, not assume,

But at least my partner’s laughing, all the way out of the room

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