Neshutan

Impossible to tally, 
The time that a stethoscope 
Has draped about my father’s neck.
            Years, I am sure. 
Just as impossible, to count 
The cadence of rhyming ventricles
Or the number of times he entertained
            The sounds of Korotkoff, 
Indicating systole and diastole. 

There is a Kodachrome photograph
Of my father, younger, in 1974 India,
Stethoscope replaced by a large constrictor.
            Make thee a fiery serpent, 
            And set it upon a pole: 
            . . . that every one that is bitten 
            When he looketh upon it 
            Shall live. 
My father, a living rod of Asclepius. 

Triaging and treating this human condition,
And understanding our Isaiah, 
            . . . all flesh, is grass . . . , 
My father is certain that we know,
            As many as should look upon 
            That serpent should live, 
            Even so, as many as should 
            Look upon the Son of God. . . 
            . . . might live. . .