"How’s it goin’ señor?"

those words indelible

in my memory of the man

that I am now forced

to say goodbye to.

It is not fair that I shall

never again critique a new poem,

that I will not see him

in another Tuba Christmas

or across the battlefield

of a hardy RISK! game.

I want the chance again

to discuss work

or life in general,

R Crumb,

or jazz,

but I am denied.

His wit and insights

are gone from me forever —

and sadness fills the void.

Robert Hippen, MD, was a long-time Northwest Permanente Radiologist at the Skyline Medical Center in Salem, OR. Dr Hippen passed away suddenly in early September. He is survived by his wife and son. Dr Hippen was a member of The Permanente Journal Review Board for many years and a frequent contributor to the Soul of the Healer—his contributions will be missed. A colleague of Dr Hippen wrote this tribute in his honor. Following are two poems Dr Hippen had submitted recently that had yet to be published.

Honorable Mention

On her good days she might

apply a little make-up, as if

she had someplace to go, and cared.

On those days

she would wear the

diamond studs and the morning

rose up like fire in her cheeks.

"Legs still strong," she would say,

and talk about her day,

which was like most days,

and each day she expected

I would arrive, and most often

I did, though it was over ten years

since her eyes first called me

to her fallen breasts, and sometimes

I doubted I would ever return.

Whether she had wanted children,

or had them and gave them up,

or why she didn’t marry,

I never knew,

and me a family man.

In those days there was

a chill to her rooms that even

her thin smile could not remedy,

so mostly she just sat there

and waited it out.

And all that time

she could not recall

why she had first asked

me to come; over ten years

gone by, and still the old girl

did not remember my name.

Old Man Waiting at a Bus Stop

The bent figure,

black hat tilted down,

rain dripping off the brim,

back to the wind.

You’ve been waiting

like this most of your life,

worried you would miss it,

worried it would come.

Now you pause and hold your breath.

The headlights a faint glimmer …

will you sing hallelujah,

dance in a puddle one last time?