~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The fluorescent hum doesn’t bother her.
Neither does the line winding past aisle three,
the man who taps his foot like a metronome, nor
the mother bouncing a fussy child.
Her hands move gracefully~
meticulously counting pills into amber vials,
smoothing wrinkled labels,
turning each bottle just so
so the instructions face outward.
She knows Mrs. Putzer forgets her reading glasses.
She remembers Mr. Kim’s allergy to penicillin
even though he hasn’t mentioned it in years.
When the young man with trembling hands
asks, again, about his dosage,
she doesn’t glance at the clock.
She unfolds the leaflet slowly,
points to the bolded text,
says take your time
like she’s handing him a cup of water
after a long walk.
Some days, the world is a rumpled prescription,
filled with smudged ink,
but Mary is the angel in blue scrubs
behind the prescription counter
*You may this poem’s companion story here on Poetry Soup as follows:
poetrysoup.com/short_stories/an_angel_in_blue_scrubs_13589
????PRECISION WITHOUT PRACTICE????
A nurse with a needle, eyes squinting tight,
Hunts for a vein in fluorescent light.
She taps and slaps, she warms the skin,
But that sneaky vein won’t let her win!
She squints, she sighs, she calls for aid,
Veins playing hide-and-seek in a masquerade.
“Make a fist!” she cries, “Now pump it twice!”
Still no vein, just skin that’s nice.
But lo! In the night, with zero fuss,
Comes a buzzing beast without a bus.
No flashlight, no gloves, no sterile prep,
Just wings and vibes and a sneaky step.
The mosquito lands with ninja grace,
No charts, no scrubs, no frantic chase.
It sniffs the blood like a wine connoisseur,
Then tap the vein...precision pure!
While humans sing and slap their thighs,
It drinks and flies before sunrise.
No training needed, no med school debt,
Just hunger, stealth, and zero regret.
So next time you're poked five times in vain,
And your arm looks like a subway train,
Just whisper softly, with no disdain:
“Should’ve hired a mosquito to find my vein!”
????VICK MANUEL POETRY????
{VMP}
Copyright ©? 23rd - 24th October 2025.
She laced her shoes and faced the dawn
A nurse's love? I'll say "be warned"
As hands this soft can change your fate
Where drugs and needles can't equate
With weary eyes she sees through all
With thickened coats and armored jaws
Behind closed doors she guards the flame
In times of war remains unnamed
When all has crumbled life goes on
A tearful moment can't be prolonged
A hero's cape though bold and bright
May sometimes look like scrubs in white
She scrubs the floors with hands that bleed,
her heart, a brittle thing beneath her chest—
a reflection of the shattered glass
she once danced on,
believing love was a crown
meant to fit anyone.
The prince's ring,
so smooth,
is a shackle,
and his kiss—
not a promise,
but a contract with the devil’s own whisper.
Her stepsisters wear their cruelty
like fine silk,
while her smile fades
into the dust of her cinders.
The carriage,
once golden,
is a cage
that rattles down the path
toward a ball
that was never hers to begin with.
The clock does not strike midnight.
It grinds her bones to powder,
and she is left standing
in the ruins of her own dreams,
the glass slipper cutting into her flesh
as if it always knew
it was meant to break her.
Hes only moving forward
Every moment framed like novelty
He scrubs but the memories remain
Cant wash away the lingering pain
If he's the shepherd will we rally?
Well you would choose to sleep immortal, wash the future from your brain
Watch you slink down moonlit alleys
Every atom of his body tears through choices he refrains
But hes only moving forward
Every moment framed like novelty
He scrubs but the memories remain
A feeling that nobody could feign
Pass the bottle of aletheia
The shackles of the past still enough strength to restrain
Try to scatter all the pieces
Indulging in a pretense, so tomorrow is retained
Cause hes only moving forward
Every moment he tries so hard to frame like abstract novelty
Scrubs hard but the memories remain
Wants to wash away himself, from the future
he's a stain
He weeps, assigned to mourn for others who
Had none to mourn them, none to say goodbye,
Those whose harm medicine can’t undo,
Whose bodies he takes apart each passing night.
He scrubs, a cleansing ritual, to keep
Away the microscopic things unseen
The rite distracts from tears he wants to weep,
The tears a spell for spirits in between.
The spirits who pass on under his knife,
Though now are still and silent, him remind
Of another who once left this life,
Whose spirit longed for, tried for, peace to find.
But now is not the time to cry and mourn,
For there’s a job, as reason is to rhyme
For some, still from this life, who, not yet torn,
Without these gifts, would soon run out of time.
The necromancer’s tears are never shown,
But what he does has ripples far and wide.
Now for his former acts he can atone,
His magic helping those on either side.
1
You probably won't believe me, These rumors you hear are true.
When I'm not at my job, I have other tasks to do.
I don't care how long it takes,No matter what I think.
It's time to scrub those dishes left soaking in my sink.
No matter how hard I try.
Dirty clothes left to themselves will nether wash nor dry.
I hope I don't sound I'm lax.
but my kitchen sure could use a wax.
There is no housekeeper that is paid for by the hour.
That scrubs my commode then rinses down my shower.
My plight is very simple, as you plainly see.
No one else will do these other tasks for me.
We all have those moments. Moments in life when you know things will never be the same for you. For me that moment was seeing Fred's black Pumas on the stairs after he had passed away. The empty shoes gave me a flash back. I saw him standing at the kitchenette counter in his scrubs and the same all-black althetic sneakers preparing my morning coffee and vitamins. His light blue scrubs unable to hide his hulking shoulders and chest , yet loose on his flat stomach. In his stead i'd find a freshly pressed coffee, vitamins and water bottle in a row on the counter. A true care taker of a care taker. At one time, these little acts of service became a welcomed routine. Now... the same shoes sat empty and lonely on the steps toward where we used to live. Which was now just an empty room. Fredy'd never have a chance to Be. A chance to better himself. A chance at Love again , which I know he had a lot of to give. The empty shoes filled my heart with sadness. The thought that his large heart no longer beat in his chest was almost too much for me to bear. Who could ever fill this man's shoes? As a Brother, a Son, Grandson and Caretaker, as a Lover or as a Best Friend.
Soars Soars
Sparrows borrows
Leaves on greens
Shrubs and scrubs
Tender so Feathering
Flowering
Shapes & shades
Brightly blurred
Colorful beautiful
Constant nectar
Sparrows slips into flower
written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023
young nurse backed out of the transparent clinic door
she no longer wears scrubs but I wish she did
she has on flesh-colored leggings
I imagine she is bigger than I am, and I wear an eighteen
anyone over a six should not wear flesh-colored leggings
I make a note of this
oh, my, this was the nurse with the beautiful blonde hair
It is awful now, dyed in four colors
faded pink, bland purple, washed out green, gray yellow
Don’t women have mirrors anymore?
To the outdoor world she appears okay
Smoke and mirrors played everyday
But behind closed doors violence is rife
Of a womans brutal down-trodden life.
Nothing she says or does is right
He's verbally abusive and full of spite
He yells "dinner is muck" then hurls it at her,
The plate hits her head, now her visions a blur.
Tirade of abuse almost most days
Followed by "the sorry he loves her" he says
Anger and rage spoken and given with fists
She cowers and whimpers and never resists.
She wears her abusers constant tattoos
Bruises of red, yellows and blues.
She wears thick make-up as a mask on her face
Making sure there's no visible evidence in place.
She scrubs the carpet removing the blood stain.
Outwardly she smiles and carries on through her pain
Yet somehow he manages to convince her to stay
Her mind, will and body more broken each day.
Nothing but beatings, nothing but shame
He leaves her feeling she is to blame.
Nothing to live for she takes her own life
Just before she took his with the same knife.
Contest Name Writing Challenge 'N' Words
Sponsor Constance La France
23.03.23
Warm June afternoon
The mirror I stare into
Shows my coldest fear
In the summer air
Dancing molecules of sweat
Await a new home
Its spikes like arrows
Our cells a shield of tissue
Waiting to be torn
Too little, too much
Sacs deflate while cells rush in
To stave infection
Thousands cram the tent
Muttering, howling voices
Spewing contagion
Donning faded scrubs
She thinks about her children
Which is more humane?
Without joy or hope
We lock ourselves in shelters
Living for TV
Dark and boarded up
Once a bright and bustling space
Now a silent shell
Connected by bits
Books and pictures framing us
We come together
Distant memories…
A hug between two comrades
Hearts embrace as one
On Pimple Pond
Pocked, our dreams spurt from cabin walls.
Woolen cover and cotton pillow catch
pin point boils from day breaking, like pitted glass.
White pebbled path meanders the hill’s cheek,
wet from being squeezed by nights cold hard hands,
to where set-tables will not wait our scrubs,
pastes and pleas for clarity like hot egg whites.
Yawns pop-jaws hinged under waxy ears.
We pass the lake and spit the dregs of sleep
onto her smooth glassine mask.
At the mess ladybugs rest, on pickle-surfaced leaves,
decline to fly. We arrive for breakfast.
One hundred-twenty faces come to bond
And maybe find a friend on pimple pond.
The sun is setting in the west
While crowned in gold, the eastern crest
Stands sentry in its scrubs and sighs
Offering its sage advice
A single lizard darts about
Driven forth by searing drought
Towards healing waters beckoning
Seeking Horeb’s rocky spring
Among the endless rocks and weeds
Between regrets and sinful deeds
Above, a pale blue sky so clear
Who knew that Heaven was so near
And through it all, this wayward soul
Uprooted outcast, blindly rolls
By gentle zephyrs carried on
Comforted by desert psalms.
I know you’re tired and have done you’re part......
Now momma lay down, and ease your weary heart......
Scrubs are hung and shoes put away.....
First time they’re still, in many a day.......
Now close your eyes and hear me say.....
I promise you mom, I’ll see you again some day.......
She is my mom and always a hero to me.....
she is nurse and full of love......
She is YOUR angel sent from the good lord above.....
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