Monday, March 8, 2010

Emergency Room Poem

The room is
sterile white,
with bright
blinding lights
that reach down with metal arms
from the wall. And the masked lunatic
sticks pins in my prick uttering something reassuring.
But the sound is unintelligible;
I hear only the slow droning of his benign tone.
"You're very lucky, you know.”
My own blood seems unusually violent.

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