Days the Vets Came
Days the Vets Came
Days the vets came — they came often —
We were there to meet them when they pulled in.
They drove station wagons out of which
The back seats had been torn to make room
For the horizontal chests of drawers
In which their bright tools were stored.
We hung around until they noticed us
And gave us the honor of giving us something
To carry — a pail of hot water we were careful
Not to spill a drop of, free arm swung out
For counterbalance — and followed them
Into the barn where the downed cow lay.
They wore gray onesies, in summer heat molted
Out of the sleeves like insects between life stages.
Some were legends. Others had a reputation
For doing more harm than good. They were something
Between farmers and doctors. Their patients couldn’t
Tell them what ailed them. Their patients were ladies
Who had to suffer the indignity of a man
Fisting and feeling around in them, searching
For what the trouble was, his head, ponderous
With the knowledge of their anatomy,
Turned to the side, talking high school sports,
Laughing at the wide eyes of boys who could neither
Look nor look away, boys who would never forget
Days the vets came — they came often —