The bust of Hippocrates. The Cath Lab, Terrifyingly sterile. “You Can’t come this way! There are Transplants here!” You, not A transplant, propped up, Reading a book, just a battery In your chest. Not a solution: We’ll be back. The kids, Four and two. At 31 Your father went for a run. At 30 they saw nothing in you. At 41 you go for a run, and have To sit down. That same day, By pure puerile accident— “Mommy’s heart broke.” I almost Collapse myself. “You mean, Mommy’s Father’s heart broke.” “Oh yes.” A month to see the specialist, who Opens the door and takes a deep breath. She loves me, she loves me not! And Two more coins, palmed another month; Two serpents, recombined… ten Floors down, Hippocrates Is scrawled in mystic signs By youths with perfect hearts.