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IVF - Session Number 4

I stand like Harry on the edge of Harfleur
waving my arms, rallying my troops, roaring:
Once more unto the breach, dear friends..!

My speech, my clenchéd fist, expressions
of a man matter-in-hand, confessions
of a man who can do no more,
but
walk the corridors with the hospital smells,
handing out Shakespeare like cheap cigars.

So I address them, my lads, gathered before me
mixing-up speeches, all the endless times that
I have told them all of the eve of Saint Crispin's.

I urge them to charge forth from their plastic pot.
My rallying cry,

something to do with my breath,

something to do with my heart, who
refuses to be beaten,
or worse disengage.
To call this act
a medical issue.

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