On Viewing a Portrait by Otto Dix
=================================

* Richard Bronson

> > A broad schmiss across his cheek,
> > 
> > full lips, pursed
> > 
> > as if to suppress a smile,
> > 
> > Dr. Hans Koch wears pince nez,
> > 
> > a white coat, collar up,
> > 
> > sleeves rolled to the elbows.
> 
> > Standing by a chair with metal stirrups,
> > 
> > a white tiled room, instruments
> > 
> > scattered on a nearby table, he waits –
> > 
> > a tourniquet in one hand, glass syringe in the other,
> > 
> > its long needle facing me.
> 
> > And I am twelve once again,
> > 
> > as my father looks up,
> > 
> > a syringe in his hand when I come in,
> > 
> > back from a ball game, his black bag
> > 
> > open on the kitchen table.
> 
> > “This is for you! There's a polio epidemic.
> > 
> > You need gamma globulin, 5 cc in each butt.”
> 
> > He took care of us all. I hated his office,
> > 
> > the pungent smells, bright examination light,
> > 
> > the stranger he became
> > 
> > with his white coat, his mirrored monocle
> > 
> > through which he gazed at me.
> 
> > “Stop whining,” as he filled the syringe.
> > 
> > “You need this. Let's get on with it!”

## Footnotes

*   Competing interests None.

*   Provenance and peer review Not commissioned; internally peer reviewed.