poem

 Penitent RoundsSometimes I ’ll block out a little timeAt the end of the day to roundOn all my demented patients.I wait for nurse ’s shift changeWhen everyone is distracted, And then stealthily slip into the roomsOf the lost and forgotten, the actively forgettingClose the door behind meDim the lights and then I justStart dishing dirt, spilling it all outLike the unchewed beans plastered to the front of their gownsI don ’t hold back—About how I ’ve always been Such a liar and a cheatA puffed up phony who Who isn ' t worth the paperMy fancy diploma is printed on(Although itisa nice cotton rag)I treat it like a Catholic confessional, Non-Catholic that I am.I just need a structured format I hit them with everything I knowAll the lousy shit I ’m mixed up in All the ways I ’ve dishonored my name Then I ease up a bit —Every round of penance does have its limits Prattle on about the weatherScold them for wasting the panoramic view From their seventh floor windowLying in bed all day, wink wink.Most of them take it rather wellSome of them just lie there smilingI call them the saintly smilersSome widen their eyes in wordless joyAs if recognizing an apparition of a nameless lover Then there are the moaners, the agitated sundownersThe ones that surge to life with any stimulationAroused to a ravenous hunger for all the things they can ’t rememberScratching around in shadows for the very light that might kill them ...
Source: Buckeye Surgeon - Category: Surgery Authors: Source Type: blogs