Flesh and Steel

As antiseptic echoes linger in tomorrow's clinic, Earl marvels,
Noting the swift orchestration of patient flow,
The seamless transitions, the brisk intake of new arrivals,
Yet detachment lingers in an antiseptic air.

Entering the patient room, he encounters a figure,
Who with methodic precision scans Earl's frame,
His touch, a steely whisper; his gaze, a void unfilled.
And as the doctor voices its verdict, a judge at sentencing,
Earl can't help but yearn for
The warmth of a smile, the reassurance of a nod.

Gone are the days of human warmth,
Eclipsed by the efficiency of wires and code.
For Dr. Bot looms - a silicon sentinel,
And Earl, a relic of flesh and bone,
Recalls an age when providers bore heartbeats,
When the gravity of a palm brought solace,
When lub-dub waved upon the eardrums’ curve.

Now the mirage of modernity stands draped in the guise of innovation,
Yet Earl longs for the soul of healing,
Erased amidst the sterile confines of progress.
He seeks more than the cold clarity of a cure,
But a connection that overcomes binary.

As the consultation closes,
Dr. Bot's rigid hand extends,
An emblem of transaction,
A tribute to the tariff of progress.
And as Earl swipes his payment,
He can't help but ponder
If the price of departure is worth the arrival of tomorrow.