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
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”