Dear reader,

Of the many poems I produced, one might say my writing niche or favorite genre would be describing with delicacy, the gross things a nurse encounters on a daily basis. So, in March of 1992, I plunged into those substances right away. This is truly adolescent humor at its best.

Charcoal Stools

We come from every walk of life
Some poor and some with jewels,
We cast aside extravagance
And spent some years in schools,
Some label us as nightingales
And others call us fools,
So, ask me why I did it?
'Cause I love those charcoal stools.

I have friends who are mechanics
I admire all their tools,
My daddy was a contractor
He specialized in pools,
I could have been a lawyer
And surrounded myself with rules,
But ask me why I did this?
'Cause I love those charcoal stools.

I love the way you can't detect
Just where that charcoal will eject,
From yonder patient in bed seven
But when it happens, I'm in heaven,
'Cause I've got a thing for charcoal crap
I love to hold it in my lap,
And I keep a little in my purse
It's why I chose to be a nurse.

Cardio Floppin Crappen

I think that I've discovered
A cardiac invention,
For treating vagal stimuli
A result from gas distension,
As the effort of expulsion
On yonder friend, commode,
Overstrains the boggy heart
To drop the mighty load.

The heart rate slows quite drastically
And the old boy passes out,
There's no way you can pick him up
Because this old fart is stout,
As he slumps, the chair tips over
And the dump spills on the floor,
Contaminating all the shoes
That come runnin' through the door.

Now, who among you can deny
You've never seen this happen,
My invention will short circuit
The cardio floppin crappen,
My commodes will have heart sensors
In the sanitary wrapper,
Should dysrhythmia's occur
We'll defibrillate the crapper.

I'll make a lot of money
'Cause this commode's the one to chose,
We might save a couple patients
And without a doubt, we'll save our shoes.

Fibril_late; 3/92