Dr Stalwart was spiky, like cactus,
New to the area he was new in practice,
He picked up Patients Notes from the front desk,
Health records for one Freddie Grotesque.
“Come in,” he brusquely commanded,
The patient meekly followed, such as etiquette demanded.
Dr Stalwart closed the surgery door,
Glancing at the notes said, “Drop your pants to the floor,”
The patient looked more than a little surprised.
Slowly, open, his belt buckle he prised.

Dr Stalwart grabbed his magnifying glass,
And began examining Freddie, close to his ass.
Finally “Freddie” enquired, “Is it usual?”
“To examine one thus, I am making no refusal,”
“For a sore throat, yes, that’s my complaint.”
“Nothing to do with your down there, it ain’t what it ain’t!”
The Doctor asked “you are Grotesque, Fred?”
“No sir!” Bernie McClakker then said.
“As I said, I’m here for an inflamed sore throat.”
“And here I stand, no pants and no coat.”
“Seems to be a little strange to me,”
“With some procedures I’m unfamiliar, medically!”

For Dr Stalwart, the penny then dropped.
On the wrong patient’s notes his hand had flopped.
Embarrassing, it was, in the extreme.
A nightmare, undoubtedly, not just a dream!
Dr Stalwart brusque, as usual,
“The Receptionist didn’t give sound perusal,”
“And so, inadvertently,”
“Someone else’s notes were passed to me!”