where the nicked-up blown-up bastards show up.
We give them ice cream
and a priest.
There is a river
down the middle. We launch ourselves into the current
and it is unclear
who is drowning, who saving.
It's a system of gradations, and if you don't die in Emergency,
why then, we come into your room with cake and streamers.
Presto! You're ambulatory, then outpatient, then nurse, doctor,
surgeon, administrator, president emeritus, cutting ribbons
instead of flesh.
See one, do one, teach one is the motto. See the staggering
son of a gun falling to the floor with wounds beyond telling.
We lift him as if we were angels.
Yesterday, we were lifted.
Tomorrow, who knows?
Nothing stops the flow of the river or the flow of patients.
We are Boatmen, and Mermaids, reaching,
saving, being saved. We are heroes of the
Carousel Horse Cavalry, coming over the
hill, with bugle and blood pressure cuff,
dizzy with purpose, maybe dying, learning as we go.
for Desperate Poets We Can Be (SUPER) Heroes.
Music: Brass Band of Battle Creek Song of the Volga Boatmen