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A poem I wrote deep into the night last Saturday. |
I own all hiking trails Written: 5/26/2018 I thought I couldn't do the 8:30 to 5. Folding the towels, replacing light fixtures, moving patients from bed to bed. Rolling the IGS machine, the bovie, the surgery bed. take a break, open up the locker to grab my phone so I can look at stupid shit for 15 minutes. Sometimes 20. Fill up the anestesia cart. need 4 of the ondesatron, 3 of the Roccoronium, 1 succylinchloride, 9 ketolac ect... ect ect..... hello, good morning, fake smiles and laughs. Back when I felt I inherited the earth and on high from thinking me, a bum, owned all the hiking trails, I didn't have to put up with this shit. back, with the headphones in my ears, living with my brother then with my parents last year I glided my fingers across the railings during the late afternoons: Where a cross was in the blue sky and red clouds at dusk that could strike and bring out a single tear. Just walking around for hours without a dollar to my name and now look at me. Camp lowell, you gave it to me. Just as how John Fante wrote about Los Angeles I write about you. My sad flower in the sand. Tuesday I will return to work after memorial day weekend and I will feel your love. Love as cold as razor wire. Maybe, just maybe, the sweet embrace of death will come like a shadow over me monday night & I won't have to suffer another day in this life. |