Sunday, June 01, 2014

Frivolous Fluff

More about them
Too much about me,
When I read what I’ve written
That’s what I see,
So, let me return
To the old days of yore,
When stories were fun
And not such a chore.

Where is the funny?
That I used to write,
Perhaps it was driven
By, working at night,
When my sleep deprived brain
Unearthed silly stuff,
Nonsense behaviors
And frivolous fluff.

We’ve all become so serious
In our responsible society,
No more room for silly pranks
And Steve, had such variety,
Like the fake video camera
Made from the toilet paper roll,
Do that now, I’d lose my license
And I’d be busting rocks of coal.

50 milliliter syringes
Were the best for water fights,
Silly jokes with the morgue cart
On the busiest of nights,
Frisbee in the hallways
In Radiology, what a hoot,
Do any of that today?
By golly, you’d get the boot.

I used to post my writings
On the wall, for all to see,
No one was offended
Other nurses, just like me,
Because I wrote about the day to day
The things we shared together,
I can not do that anymore
There’s been a horrid change of weather.

Political corrected-ness
Has buried us in crap,
Worse than the “Charcoal Stools”
That landed in my lap,
Way back in crazy yesteryear
When I launched, the Underside,
Zero-Tolerance nonsense
Has become America’s bride.

The EMR computer folks
They audit us, oh yes they do,
Reminders on a monthly basis
For Billy-Bob and Mary Lou,
About the things we left out
These are reprimands, and never praise,
Insinuating, with a shrug and smile
Why we rarely get a raise.

The joke is on us
We stuck around too long,
Yet, new Nurses can’t get hired
To replace the Geriatric throng,
Of grumpy curmudgeons
Who aren’t afraid to speak out,
Registered Nurse experts
We don’t whimper and pout.

Healthcare in general
Is safer, for Public Joe,
But for the Nurse in the field
It’s a tough row to hoe,
Thus proving, it’s too hard
To have fun at work, any more,
Just writing about it
Seems like a chore.

But still, I can’t quit
And neither will Steve,
Somewhere there’s a prank
That we must play, before we leave,
Short-sheeting a bed
Goldfish in the new pond,
That’s what I’m planning
Before I greet the great beyond.


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