Posted in Chutzpah

Noted

Usually the surgeons stopped talking,
adopted a rarefied silence if I was in the ward office
beginning to speak then seeing the hired help
upstairs downstairs –
the Catering Manager,
the food dude one of the theatre nurses called me.
Often called to the station for diets, special requirements etc et
and often … “ Mrs Johnston  in 103,” then tiered silence.
But this one didn’t, new perhaps
or secure that nothing was personal or confidential –
a threesome -surgeon, patient and nurse …
“ So,
we need to keep you in a couple of extra days,”
cut to charge nurse …. “ have you got space – yes
back to patient, “ will your insurer be okay?
Yes.
And what about work?
No probs mate just give me one of those notes you guys write
Okay Saville Row tailored, perfectly voweled
“ two extra nights
notification to the insurer
and …… I’ll do one of those notes us guys write.”

Author:

Most of my life has been spent on the bench, occasionally called into the game by extravagance or attenuation. Waiting has turned a loner into a recorder - nondescript and inconsequential, more not noticed than overlooked - the non-vantage point of children not yet considered old enough to understand. Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry is a lifetime of picking anecdotes up and not throwing them away. Stories collected like odds and ends placed in a box in the basement, the garage, the garden shed - uncertain as to what their use might be but knowing that one day there might be one.