At your doctor’s appointment, convey
all your symptoms, how the last admission officer
referred to your daughter as your granddaughter.
Ask your own questions when appropriate.
What is the import of those x-rays? Why does
the receptionist display a studio portrait
of her Pekinese in such an ostentatious frame?
Explain how all the campuses are cold.
During your last visit, the head-slapping wind
watered your eyes so you skipped the cafeteria
and instead ate at Tiny’s Diner and Lottery Headquarters.
Admit that your daughter has narrowed her choice
of colleges to three, maybe four, maybe three.
This time next year, she will be gone from the house.
According to your policy, you have no insurance for that.
Ask Your Own Questions:
do dogs have insurance?
do cats think about kittens leaving home?
do turtles have stethoscopes?
would coyotes be disappointed with their appointment?
Only an assurance…
I love the way the poem goes from doctor appointment to admissions appointment to the appointed time when the daughter leaves home, back to the title. For me, the poem ends up being about all our moments being like a series of unpredictable and indeterminate appointments.
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