ace and winston

i saw you before anyone else, before
the crow's-nest boy called, staring out over
that first desolate plain we sailed across;
thick prairie grasses growing sparse and dry
a small man, and vulnerable

you were unconscious; overdosed on morphine and
god knows what else
twig limbs and one-two-three-skip heartbeat,
burns on half your body and
no one ever asked what happened

i offered you a coat and gauze bandages,
a flask of whiskey, medical assistance.
you smiled weakly (rare occurrence) and said,
i myself am a medical man, thank you--
but i'll take you up on the whiskey

i've been calling you Doctor from then on,
since you still won't tell us your name.
look, doctor. dear.
i'm sure it's not just i who wants to help;
we've all seen you and watched as you pretended to heal

i was the first to see you; i do not wish to be
the last to see you. stay a time, doctor,
and learn to love us. we (i) are
loud and intimidating, but kind,
curious. it pains us to not know.

apologies in advance, skin-and-bones doctor,
i mean no harm by what i say. i fear you've
locked yourself away in a self-made madman's prison,
the gears clicking along in your head jammed for lack of oiling
and you won't call a mechanic.

i'm no mechanic, but i've seen my share
of heartbroken fools with thoughts of death.
so tell me, doctor. who made you run into the deadlands,
mainlining opium and cocaine and
god knows what else?

the world is a magical place; life goes on
i'm here to listen and
god knows what else