Needles and Hospital Bedsheets

For the 20th time the nurse pricks my left hand
in a futile search for blood veins
that have long given up appearance.
She looks tired,
its vividly clear even in the wink-window
of my nearly closed eyes.

Next to me!
The mobilisers hisses atop the little boy’s nose
in his struggle for breath, hoodwinked
in the possibility of an effortless swallow of air
one day

She cleans my second hand with Isopropyl alcohol
like the germs on my hands
stand a better chance of killing me
than the germs inside me

She forgets that,
Bacteria like a chainsaw is tearing my body
in miniature unrecognisable particles
but I am lucky enough to have a body

For there is a thing
to hung drips of Flagyl I.V. Metronidazole,
and bismuth subsalicylates.
The binds to dime lights
and hide patient from the aware passers-by
in the ugly adjective of ‘Privacy’

As the cannula bites into my body
the smell of antibiotics fills up the hospital
my woozy body begs for a break from this
I pray to the gods,
“Do not take me without grey hair”

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This is a wonderful blog for creative writing: a rich source of inspiration combined with a strong presence of the author.

Lisa Smith
Lisa SmithNY

I enjoyed every piece of it. How intelligent and delightful your writings are! Every single article belongs here.

Natalie Jackson

Those illustrations complete the charming atmosphere of your works. Smart decision on including them here and there.

John McGill
John McGillTX
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