The Unseen Gears
The night shift settles, a quiet hum of lights,
Where fragile dreams and fading days reside.
The CNAs move, a blur of steady might,
The truest anchors, with nothing left to hide.
I walk the halls, not with a med-cart key,
But eyes wide open for the weary hand,
A silent plea, I try to help the CMA,
The things they have to face and push right through.
A pitcher needs a fill, a linen changed,
A call bell's chime they can't quite reach in time.
The intricate schedule, always deranged,
Nurses charting truths that border on sublime.
Then the kitchen door swings wide, a flash of heat,
Where steam and silver meet the day's routine.
I don't dispense the meds, or chart a vital beat,
But I'm the engine keeping every setting clean.
The rush begins—the residents are wheeled to dine,
My eyes track trays where the service must begin.
The plates come back, a study in demand,
I clear the clutter, working with a steady hand.
Bussing tables, making sure no mess is left right there,
I quickly wipe the spills and sweep the floor.
The Nurses gain a moment they can save;
The environment I tend, gives back the time they crave.
This steady rhythm, stacking dishes high,
A clean, safe setting means they can give so much more.
From tray delivery to the final scrub and shine,
Supporting the staff, so their essential light can shine.
We are a single function, serving one great need,
And every small assist, every extra glance,
Buys back a minute, a necessary seed,
To simply pause, and breathe, and keep their pace,
While bringing comfort to this sacred space.
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