Courageous men and women wear scrubs,
masks, white gloves, and black net caps.
They, too, eat their meals from plastic tubs,
what's left over from supper scraps?
At night, their bones begin to break down.
In the outpatient and hospitalized wards.
On the other side of the earth, in clinics around.
across the middle of the COVID swords.
Do not remove pricey clothes or freeze.
Their newly cleaned blues made for a breeze.
They have what they need to get the job done.
If you firmly grab your hand with a striped tone,
Unfortunately, it was the start of a new day.
while fresh, sickening showers beat cruelly away.
Categories:
outpatient, analogy, appreciation, caregiving, health,
Form: Sonnet
[I got approved today for another procedure
In the old days, a procedure was a surgery,
Nowadays the insurance company approves
It’s something akin to commercial burglary!]
A surgery used to mean a long hospital stay
But a procedure, you’re in-and-out in a day,
They send you home with pain and a pill
The pain really sets in when you get the bill.
You get a form to fill out how well they did
Yes, as though you’d know, it’s all so stupid.
Take it from me, best to go in by ambulance
No waiting for hours to be seen…perchance
They rush you right into an emergency room,
Before your infected appendix goes ka-boom.
Feeling poorly, being grumpy is hardly a sin
Try to go with the flow, take it on the chin,
Keep in mind the doctors are doing their best
To keep your heart beating inside your chest.
Written May 27, 2022
Categories:
outpatient, how i feel, humor,
Form: Couplet
On the outpatient floor
Where you fill out the forms,
We joined masked people, distanced,
All following norms.
With the paperwork done,
You’d sit down until paged
But the person behind us
Was counter-engaged.
See, before he checked in,
His son whispered, “You know,
You can daven real soon –
In that corner you’ll go.”
For an Orthodox Jew
Must obey the commands
And to daven, or pray’s
What the Torah demands.
So my husband was called
Then the guy who was next,
Who was still in the corner
Reciting his text.
After surgery, he
And my husband came out.
Both were fine - one sans prayer,
The other devout.
Categories:
outpatient, today,
Form: Rhyme
It’s outpatient surgery
and she’s running late
trying to catch a spider
in the kitchen sink.
Wants to carry it outside
before her boyfriend wakes
and crushes it.
Then she has a long drive
to the clinic and hopes
this will be her last visit.
Her boyfriend lied
about having
that procedure.
She found out the hard way,
shouldn’t have let him back in.
Donal Mahoney
Categories:
outpatient, abortion,
Form: Free verse
January 8th, I am guessing. It is a Friday.
No. It is Saturday, as midnight has already passed.
I have been trapped inside myself. How long?
It’s been an outpatient process.
Some days I am locked in,
others I have leave and can mingle within
the world quite normal.
As of late, more than not,
more often during the hours which turn into days,
and weeks gone by.
Here I sit, within my own being,
not knowing quite, what isn’t right.
So in the search of
meaningful thought,
genuine affection to the topic at hand,
a raw and real, unclothed, unanticipated, unexpected…
I wholly embrace,
I crave. And when this is the case,
I shall be fully engaged.
Let us not banter
anymore of the things
we cannot change.
Let us move forward
into the fullness of life.
August 19th, 2013 Lori Hopkins "STAR WARS RULES"
For the Star Wars Contest
Categories:
outpatient, truth,
Form: Free verse
How quickly
vanity will undo a man
sitting in an outpatient ward,
his, no minor ills
yet feeling worse
for the treatment
than its need.
Aware the ticking of the clock,
exchange of amiable words -
they never wear solid colors
in oncology,
always gaier prints
and smiles set
against hopeful eyes.
Apprehensions and myths
must be unravelled,
even thoughts deciphered,
delusions dislodged;
so many stories of survivors,
and remembrances of those gone.
The butterfly
has no consciousness of fear,
and sparrows dart without tear.
To man alone,
God's ultimate created,
is the grimness of the grave known.
Yet, there remains on my lips
a boatload of gold,
while I am found, too,
in the shadow of my tears.
Categories:
outpatient, introspection, life,
Form: Free verse
Sometimes I wonder if I use poetry as a crutch
To my emotions broken limbs
As if poetry is an outpatient outlet for my informative formalities
Passive aggressive tendencies
Rhyme disease
My apologies, I seem to forget the apostrophes
Like symbolic catastrophe
Heartache rhinoplasty
Augmentation of my weaknesses
I contain in my vial the audacity
Squirting literary illness on healthy bodies and souls
Because we're all dying,
And just trying to stay beautiful
-Jess
Categories:
outpatient, health, introspectionpoetry,
Form: Free verse
Look at the Icicle.
It forms-
An ugly mass drooping from a cragged rock, the water
hardening before it has sufficient time to
d
r
i
p
I've heard them called things of beauty by others, and
indeed I once thought of them as such.
But after today...
(Yesterday)
My father called me to tell
me that my Nine Year old bother has lukemia.
I cried for hours.
Today I found out that he is going to be alright, though he
will participate in outpatient treatment for three years.
I cried again.
And as I drove home from Dornbecher's childrens hospital this afternoon, I
saw the Icicles hanging from the rocks hidden in the shade.
I cried some more.
I love my brother Sean.
Categories:
outpatient, brother
Form: Free verse