White Roads and Lab Coats

I consulted a map
on how far away my cousins lived.
The bright blue triangle drawn in crayon
hovered over the spot
where our imaginary medical clinic resided.
I shook my head
because the map's intertwining white roads
bored me more than black and white movies.
My cousins arrived a few days later.
 
We never knew the rules of playing doctor
Those little reflex hammers checked our ears
and a tweezers was used to trace the violet veins
that made it seem as if a map
had been hidden in layers of skin.
Gauze and tongue depressors
were wrapped around our foreheads
to keep our temperatures down.
We bandaged clear wounds and paper cuts,
I prescribed Smarties
to bring down the swelling of a finger nail.
We traveled in our imaginary clinic
from Grand Rapids to Alexandria.
We tried to trace our path in red pen on a map,
but it looked more like blood clouds
had risen above the United States.
 
My cousins left for home on gray roads.
The doctor kit lay neatly on a shelf in plain view,
like a promise that Hill Clinic
would stay with us forever.
 
April Hill