poem

 WetI ’ve always been a grinderScratching out brown dustAn inch or two at a time I am the sluice in the stoneWhen the river runs dryAll these people staring in aweFrom the edge of what ’s now a canyonWhat was the point and why?Look at those inscrutable geological agesLayered in the crushed silence of looming wallsWhen the waters come againThey ’ll come thundering through empty hallsThe ancient dust now realizes the thing it ' sBeen feeling all this time is parched Everyone else trapped below drownsI remember how evenA desert can get drenchedGeysers of pleasureErupting from the center of the earthI remember being wet12/7/22

Source: Buckeye Surgeon - December 7, 2022 Category: Surgery Authors: Jeffrey Parks MD FACS Source Type: blogs