Today, six hours was spent in an ER center with a dear friend that was in need. When they called him "back" to the hidden area, I was left for most of the time by myself. It gave me a chance to watch people and see what was going on with them. The hospital allowed two times to "visit" my friend in the back area. Which in itself added some surprises. Of course, discovering they had "misplaced" my friend only added to the day.
ER poem 1
I saw the fear
in his eyes.
The not knowing,
not comprehending,
naked fear.
It was all so strange
sounds
smells
people
clustering,
doing strange
frightening things.
He bit his lower
lip and tried not to
cry.
But a small tear
dripped down his
cheek.
He brushed it away
with a grimy
hand.
The man didn't understand
where he was -
who these people were -
what needed to be done.
The daughter was firm
and somewhat
out of patience.
Her firmness became
somewhat
shrill.
It evidently was
as a drill to his
resolve.
Which melted
much as the boy's
tear had
dripped
down.
But there was
no hand
to brush
it away.
ER poem 2
The trauma team
all wear
black shirts.
Around them
an occasional
flash of
white whirling
about.
I don't think
I would
want to wake
up surrounded
by black shirts.
There are times
my life is
black enough
as it is.
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