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Carl Stevens' Poem: Diane Stern's Retirement

My heavy heart is ailing
my leaky soul has gout
my sorry head is dizzy
for Doctor Stern is out.
She prescribed greatness
in the radio waiting room
with a voice like penicillin
and a mind like a super moon.
She picked medicinal apples
from New England's knowledgeable trees,
the latest cancer research
and traffic on the threes.
With a stern and steady presence
she walked us through the storms
like the flow of healing waters
a liquid art in human form.
When there's sickness in the world
too much fightin' and a-tusslin'
she turns on that microphone
and out comes Robitussin.
I can't believe she's leaving
we'll miss her, all in all,
on those afternoon commutes,
her voice was Tylenol.
When things seem overwhelming
she brings perspective to the space
her presence is a serum
of intelligence and grace.
So let's raise a glass of Nyquil
as she ascends retirement's stairways,
and toast Diane Stern,
the doctor of the airwaves.

Bye Di!

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