I Wore White

I wore white.
Impressive interview. 
As usual. 

I make them laugh and laugh. 

My patient told me, “you are great at what you do.”
A patient.
Drugs and rope, his ticket in. 
Two hundred and fifty pounds lost to a shower rod.

The nurses laugh.
Can’t cope.

Weak and stupid, 
Can’t kill himself right.

Not his first time
In hospital restraints.

I didn’t say,

I ate my pills for breakfast and
hid my demon today.

I didn’t say, 

I’m glad my dad failed,
in the garage.

I didn’t say, 

He’s too smart to 
Kill himself right.

Code blue came to us,
Most experienced, 
I led the team. 

I didn’t say,
I once had a ticket. 

I wore white. 




Like gelotanous globs, his eyes are stuck partially open by the edema. She stares at the figure. The swollen man’s head has purple tinged ears. Blood stains the sheets.

The words of the surgeon echo distantly in her head; “he is stable.”

She slinks to the bathroom for refuge, and a figure with sunken cheeks and blood red eyes reflects in the mirror.

She wonders if the man with coarse leathery hands will ever hold hers delicately again. But a claw grips her heart like a vice.