Like I said before, every week is like working in the Twilight Zone; the crazies have gone crazy. Seems like, all I'm doing each night, is just bobbing and weaving:


Bobbing and Weaving

He entered the hospital
Back on January 3rd,
Here it is five months later
And he's flipping us the bird,
Whether it's aimed at us nurses
His family or his Deacon,
Quite clearly he must feel like
He's a victim of some freakin',
Bad karma, bad juju
Rained down upon his head,
He's determined to go down swinging
So, now he's climbing out of the bed,
And for some portentous reason
I've been assigned to save his bacon,
All the while, the winds are howling
And the walls of our unit are shaking.

It's another flipping fubar
Down here at the comedy club,
This worn out, whacked out senior
Just took a header in the tub,
There's a torrent of blood from his mouth
From the loss of his very last tooth,
He seems to be pondering my future
While I'm recalling events from my youth,
Where I looked down the long tunnel of life
Wondering what I would make of my days,
Never imagining this scenario
The outcome of some poorly planned plays,
But I will survive this calamity
Afterall, it's just a 12-hour shift,
As long as I keep bobbing and weaving
And staying downstream, from his drift.

But back to the distraction of the moment
I'm dodging the fists of this client,
Your average 83 year old patient
Isn't usually so friggin' defiant,
But he's a seasoned old-world warrior
Who fought running battles with the Czars,
He's looked down the barrel of an ICBM
And come home without any scars,
So it's not likely he holds any fear
For us wimps in the medical profession,
And while he's cussing me out in Swahili
I'm praying for divine intercession.

Like a buffalo in a beer parlor
Or a rhinocerous over for tea,
This aged, senior combatant
Wants to make mincemeat of me,
And I'm no longer allowed to give sedatives
Because supposedly, he's on the mend,
While bookies in New York and Vegas
Are betting I've come to my end.

Fibril_late;
6/2/08