Technicians

Doctors  are technicians today

Their eloquent hands never  pray

They just use new machines

And ancient vaccines

To lessen our will  to decay.

But preserving our souls is too hard

As rituals and rites have been barred.

So we pretend we have none,

And it’s true they have gone

To the underground where there’s no guard.

Eloquence is no guarantee

But it suits  us when making a  plea.

The inarticulate beseech

As with  eyes they out reach

A minimum wage   and some glee,