Scrubs Poems

The Blood-Stained Glass Heart

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.

Stain

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

The Necromancer’s Tears

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

OTHER TASKS

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.

Empty shoes

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.

Pastel Flower Sparrow-

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

Observing the Nurse

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?

Nothing

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

Ten Pandemic Haiku

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

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 Tumbleweed Prayer

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.

Mom Is a Nurse

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.....

Neglected

I’m sporting this new lipstick
it won’t fade, smudge or smear
I’ll be lucky if it wears off this year.

I’ve got this new eyeliner that’s like
a luxurious, glittering, penciled tattoo
Leong asked, “How do you get it off you?”

I unpacked these chemical wonders
to see if they’ve lost their luster
by being neglected since last summer.

When you study too much, you feel pent-up,
so my compadres and I chose to get dolled-up,
rolling-up to dinner, like beauty queens on parade,
and not just sophomore scrubs trying to make the grade.
.
.
Webster: compadre: a close friend or buddy

Virus Warfare

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.

The Women In Scrubs - inspired By Araceli

The women who work in the lab have beauty and charm,
Each having a role to play in orderly fashion;
They never treat you like a guinea pig on a farm.
They take care in their work with a whole lot of passion.

There are so many jobs that they all have to perform,
But none of them are less important than the next one.
From the ones who scan to the ones who check on the dorms,
They are very well organized while they’re having fun.

Though the ones with the needles truly mean you no harm,
You may feel a little pinch when they break through the skin.
Though a minor discomfort in the fold of your arm,
Don't be offended; they'll do it again and again.

The women in scrubs are all very friendly and nice.
They are quite gentle and always have a nice smile.
If you stay on their good side, they won't even think twice.
That inch of kindness may stretch into a long mile.

Now, Mackenzie and Theresa have the same story.
They also walk around with a smile on their face.
Though not in scrubs, they are both as friendly as can be,
But we all know who is really in charge of this place.

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