poem

 Burn OutOn call all the timeCan ’t remember the last dayI didn ’t go into the hospitalI think 21 days in a row Now, not sure, the suns and moonsRunning together you stop caringAbout the day, the time So much about yourselfAnd then everything elseExcept for the task at hand;An abscess to lanceA port to placeLeft colon to mobilize The perfectly arrayed meshNo before or afterEverything distilled down  To the timeless immediacy Slicing my daysInto bracketed sliversEvery incision only happening nowThere are unintended side effects Of course, emotional detachmentDisengagement, psychic injury But you can ’t really feel itWhen it's actually happening.Like the wound that hurts worse When the lidocaine wears off  Absence of pleasureIn the usual sense But it felt real, dammit,Doing all that nonsenseAnd the world of things Remains as it is;Faintly interesting, articulable But unreal, like a dioramaOf life behind bullet proof glassDrained of colorLike a black and whiteSketch of people vaguely known.I like it this way, sometimes,Everything less complex.I watch the world and thinkI could draw that, yes4/19/22

Source: Buckeye Surgeon - April 19, 2022 Category: Surgery Authors: Jeffrey Parks MD FACS Source Type: blogs