Monday, October 05, 2009

Don't get me wrong; I like the Day-shift. The crux of the problem? I don't belong there. Why? The 3-meals, the numerous Discharges, the numerous Doctors, Imaging tests to travel to and more. It ain't my gig, and everybody knows it.
So, when I have to hang out longer than my usual 12 hours to Chart, well, I get to write a poem too. So please don't take any of this as a personal slight, ok? After-all, I named it after my least favorite president.

George Bush

Charting, charting, charting
Q-four-hours, it's a bitch,
My arthritic joints are aching
And my butt begins to itch,
'Tis the same old stuff I chart each time
It's really such a chore,
But they told us George Bush wanted it
No wonder, it's a bore.

Charting, charting, charting
It's oh-eight hundred, I'm still here,
My friends have all gone home
There were laughing, in good cheer,
It seems I had to trouble-shoot
The IV pumps and charting,
Now I'm surrounded by those day-shift freaks
My defense? I sit here farting.

They stay away from me, they do
Afraid, they'll make me linger,
As I pluck away at the keyboard keys
I offer them the finger,
Their fault, it is not mine to blame
I'm old and thus, too slow,
But the best of them, will always wish
That they could buy, all that I know.



K. Tree said...

Ha! Beautiful. Thank you for making me laugh today.

Climbergirl said...

When I was visiting Grandma, I saw a chart on the wall. It showed the turn around time for freeing beds by the ICU. They spent so much time charting, they failed to notice Grandma getting out of her bed. After she broke her clavicle, somebody stopped charting, long enough to help her back in. I wonder what that pause in the charting did to their statistics!?!