To my dearest sir or madam:
Today, here with his mom,
I saw your patient Adam,
Thought I’d send this note along
Adam’s now a full-grown boy,
Fifteen to be precise
I’d say his visit brought me joy,
But Adam … isn’t nice
We follow him for teenage angst —
In short, you may recall,
He’s taken now to robbing banks
Since sometime late last fall
He’s on no medications now
(Unless you count his pot)
Eats his veggies by the pound,
Has allergies to naught
I asked about his big concerns,
His mood, and his desires
He said he likes to watch things burn
And longs to set more fires
At this point, smoke began to creep
Beneath the clinic door
Adam only laughed and leaped
For joy and called for more
Our nurse rushed in all panick’d,
And, with Adam’s mom and John,
We abandoned that Titanic
And collapsed upon the lawn
Sadly, Adam lingered there
Amid the flames and smoke
Even as I write this, dare
I say, my voice does choke
On examination, then,
His ashes in a tin,
Vital signs were absent and,
Respecting Adam’s kin —
I refrained from auscultation
And deferred palpation too
We did, however, weigh him:
In kilos, one point two
That puts him at the first centile
For others of his age
Though, to be fair, it’s not my style
To plot him at this stage
In summary, in short my dear,
Your patient, as you’ve said,
Had conduct much amiss I fear,
And now he’s very dead
We’ll follow in the afterlife,
Upstairs or query hell,
At least he didn’t have a wife
Regards, I wish you well