HOSPITAL POEM
so many hospitals with
so many names of so many
saints
it makes the heart want
to bleed
Saint Francis
Saint Mary’s
Saint Joseph
Saint Luke
Saint this one and that one
so many people lined-up
waiting on death
hacking and coughing
spitting up their insides
so many nurses with
dollar-bill eyes
strutting their stuff into the
parking lot
too tired for love
too tired to laugh
overcome with failure
and fatigue
so many doctors
so sad they can’t be God
hiding their disappointment
in cocktail glasses
or between the legs of the
angels of mercy
so many doctors beaten-down
by death
so frustrated they take out
their anger on the golf courses
of America
in the bedrooms of loved ones
so many cardiac arrests
so many dead on arrivals
so many John Doe’s
so many Jane Doe’s
how many only the
business office knows
and the security guards
and the housekeeping staff
and the accountants
and the gray-haired lady volunteers
with eyes worn as an Indian Head penny
and the young nurses with bodies
like orange blossoms
who walk it on by your door
and my door
worn down stepped on
they eat and sleep
they make love
they masturbate with hands
and vibrators
some none to cleverly
some like Van Gogh
returning each day to walk the
halls like vampires
with pained fingernails
that slice the flesh
to the bone
the doctors the nurses
the orderlies in white the
priests the patients and
loved ones
all seeking a private audience
with God
here behind these sterile walls
where death stalks the halls
with hot panting breath
licking the crevice of the soul
death the noble savage
death the avenging sadist
leaving behind her scars
playing out the game
to the bitter end
a giant hearse among
a sea of compact cars
—a. d. winans
Leave a Reply