Love Is a Fragile Nocturn

The male ward is never quiet at night, machines hooked-up to invisible bodies buzz and beep. Someone’s moaning in his sleep. I listen to the late-shift nurses gossiping at their station. Follow their footsteps as they move from somewhere to some other place. Every hour she arrives by my bed to check my vitals. mostly I contrive to be unconscious - just savoring her gentle touch. Beds creak as patients turn in their discomfort. I know what she looks like; petite, lovely. I got myself stabbed in Kuala Lumpur, my fault, got too drunk to be careful. It’s 1981 back then China Town could get rough. I’m planning to marry the Chinese nurse soon as I am up and about. Meanwhile the other sick folks here piss their beds, fart, or cough up a lung, seemingly hell bent on disturbing my drug induced fantasies.