I woke up from my "first day off sleep" and immediately wrote this poem. All I had was the line, "At risk for skin integrity", which had earlier struck me as an odd way to describe skin that had the potential of being damaged.

Where did I get that line, you ask? From a memo, of course. Furthermore, a "bathroom memo", with its accompanying flowchart format. I'm telling you, that this organization I work for is a veritable writers dreamland; a germinating pit of poem seeds, if you will. I suppose that might be going overboard, but to me, it is constantly entertaining.

Skin

At risk for skin integrity,
It could happen to you
It might happen to me.

Your skin was ragged
And worn, at each seam,
We tried to repair it
'Twas a heck of a scheme;
But you wouldn't have it
You scratched and you picked,
The carefully placed Duoderm
With your fingers, you flicked,
It littered your bed
And fell to the floor,
The housekeeper bitched
At one more, extra chore.

They came with their science
Those Hyperbaric nurses,
You flailed and you spit
And heaped them with curses,
And thus, you were blessed
By the most basic of karmic laws,
You reap what you sow
The effect is your cause.

Your skin wouldn't heal
You moaned as it wept,
Perpetually, you were awake
While everyone else slept,
With your circadian rhythm
Totally, fu-barred,
Even if you survived
You'd be horribly scarred.

Yes; skin integrity
Oh, my,
We fixed your skin
But still, you died.,
You fought all of our efforts
So valiant; with vigor!
But it matters not
With your mortis and rigor.


Fibril_late
7/6/09