There were golf balls in my head,
my sparse scalp stitched over the bag of my brain.
i rattled as i walked, so i sat down embarrassed.
they pressed upon the roots of my teeth.
my vision variegated into hexagonal dimples.

i lay in a downy bed
immobilized, stunned
by the lack of the crack,
the crutch drugs.
my boiled brain cooling off,
reconstructing itself.
the fumes of electrical welding
course through me.

forty eight! forty eight!
he kept yelling into my tympanic membrane.
the golf balls were bingo balls now,
and he had taken a wet one from my mouth.
forty eight!

but my ticket said forty seven.

you have the best and the worst
of your mother and of me
we’ve all been hurt by one another
we have laughed and cried together
and still, we are of the lucky
we talk
we visit
we bring chicken soup
you are our heart, our sun
terrible at times to behold
but always melting the ice
when you were ten
you donned my big parka
and went out with your friends
it was dragging in the snow
but you did not care
and when you came home you refused to take it off
last night you took me to hospital
i told you to go home, so you did
and slept in my bed. my bed.
tonight, i found your accidental bobby pin
and, under my pillow,
your on purpose peppermint.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Painting by Lee. (On iPad)

I was an asshole today.  Shopping in the grocery store, I knew suddenly that I needed the bathroom.

Of course, it was a single “one size fits all”  type of washroom, and I found the door to be locked. No noise from inside, so I thought someone must be squatting and reading the sports section.  Two minutes go by, then three.  I jiggle the handle to let them know there is someone waiting.  Another minute.  Then the sound of paper towels and running water.  Good, must be done.  Nope.  Another minute of complete silence.  I jiggle again.  Then someone blows their nose.  This is when I thought what the hell are they doing?
Two more minutes.  Another jiggle, more vigorous this time.

After a total of about 8 minutes, the door opens tentatively and a big lumbering young guy wearing a funny hat comes out.  I am in complete distress by this time, and push in behind him before he even has a chance to leave.  I slam the door, and have made it just in time.

When I’m done my two or three minutes, I hear a conversation outside the door.  It’s the young guy complaining to the store manager about “that man who slammed the door”, and asking him if he would have a talk with me.  He sounds upset and scared, but not angry (as Yours Truly was when he slammed the door).   The manager is commiserating with him and asking him to continue his shopping and would he like any assistance etc.
I open the door, push past them, and continue about my business.

When I’m done my shopping, I see the young guy in the vegetable section.  I have an urge to keep on going, but instead walk up to him and say “Listen buddy, I’m sorry.”  He looks surprised and still a little scared.  I said “I’m sorry for slamming the door like that.  I was gonna poop my pants at any moment.”  He said “Well, thank you for apologizing.  I was really scared and thought I did something wrong.”  At this point, I felt about two feet tall, but I just gave him a soft pat on the arm and said “See you later and have a good day.”

I won’t give excuses for the boorish behavior, except to say that there could be some things to be taken into consideration.

This guy could have beaten the crap out of me, but instead I found him to be a gentle and simple soul.

I was lucky.  Lesson learned for today.  Could have been worse.

I have stopped by woods on a snowy evening.
It’s a sublime slanting sun, and,
camera in hand,
I come upon the hoped-for scene.

The reaching trees, silhouettes of bareness.
The furnace of the sun,
a smudge of burnt orange behind the ridge,
imparts a hue, a twilight blue
to the mile-long shadows in the powdery glitter.

I click and click with frantic abandon,
not wanting to lose this singular zenith of beauty.
How many shots? a hundred? a thousand?
I will take them home-
enhance them, adobe them, candy coat them
until they look, they look…
like those coffee table books that no one reads.

So,  I turn to go, my anticipation tempered now.
I look back once more, in regret.
The deep blue shadows slowly lengthen
as the sun pours dark red lava down the hillside.

I stop. Upon a stump I sit.
There is longevity here, a longevity of bliss.
And now I know why those beautiful heavy books
have sticky pages and dusty covers
pristine of fingerprints.

She was talking to a drunk laying on a gurney in the curtained room next to mine. I felt a little guilty for eavesdropping, but, after all, it’s the emergency ward and there are only curtains separating you. This doctor, whose lot it was to work the midnight shift this week, was plainly skilled at her craft. Dealing with a hostile patient who was uncooperative and here against his will, she displayed patience, assertiveness, courage, persistence, a knowledge of psychology, and a non-judgmental attitude. Even though this was his third time here within the last two months, and in the face of his refusal to provide a urine sample or take a blood test, she managed to get permission from him to call his mother, who eventually arrived and took responsibility for him.

Then there was a nurse who had to deal with an aggressive man who was attempting to barge his way in to see a Doctor for some advice on a serious matter at home. She was plain spoken and well aware of hospital policy towards this kind of thing, and calmly explained to him that he would have to register along with everyone else and wait his turn, or he would be removed from the building.

A little girl was in the waiting room with her parents. She had swallowed a quarter, but seemed none the worse for wear, but they wanted to get her checked out. A nurse came and chatted with her, asking her how old she was. She said “I am four”. Then her mother said “Actually, I think she is four and a quarter.”

In the same waiting room was an old couple (or, It could have been a man and his sister). He was in a wheel chair with a cast on his foot and a shoulder brace, awaiting some X-Rays. The woman seemed to take delight in telling the story of his “self-inflicted” injuries, saying he was standing on a kitchen stool against her advice, and had fallen, breaking his foot and dislocating his shoulder. He kept grimacing and waving her away, but she said “It’s your own fault, LaVerne”. It was all in good humor though, and everyone in the room was kibitzing and telling their own stories.

A little boy was brought in who had swallowed a bottle of pills, but he seemed okay as he said to his father “Hey, how come that guy’s got a broken leg?” LaVerne said “you wanna hear the story?”

Later, as they got me into a room, I noticed a Police presence as a gurney was rolled in with a twenty something woman on it who had overdosed. There had been criminal activity involved, and she was here to get clean before being taken away.

At one point, I asked to be disconnected so I could go to the washroom. When I opened the door, I saw that there was blood in the toilet and more on the walls and door handle. I turned around to let them know, at the same time meeting up with an orderly who was donning rubber gloves. He said “Yeah, we know”. That’s all I heard, and never found out how the blood got there.

In this miasma of humanity, there were more things added to the mix. The screaming of terrified children. The sound and smell of someone vomiting. More shouting and the sound of a scuffle as the aggressive guy returned and was hustled off the property. A woman crying as she wheeled her demented grandmother in.

My particular gurney was moved, because they needed the room, and I was parked to one side of a long hallway, then informed I had to stay for another four hours for more blood tests. The nurse apologized, put all of my belongings on the gurney with me, and said “Yeah, this is what we call health care today. At least you can say you were one of the Kids in the Hall!”

God bless these people. They are not all angels, of course, although I did meet some that fit that description. There were others that got a little desperate at times, but kept up a professional attitude as best they could.

I only hope that if I am ever brought in for something “self-inflicted” that they are as kind to me.