For the first 24 years of my career, I worked night-shift, in places where the bath was done on day-shift, unless there was some sort of elimination debacle on my tour of duty. Now, having returned to my kind, I'm expected to take care of the bath during the night. Yeeks!

But maybe, just possibly, the following poem offers a solution, in the not-so-distant future. I can only dream.

The Last Bath

He'll do anything he can
To avoid giving a bath,
He says it's his destiny
His karma or path,
An oath, vow or promise
A word troth, a pledge,
Some ridiculous rigmarole
About an existential edge,
An invisible boundary
He dare not traverse,
Some voodoo mumbo-jumbo
About the mummy's last curse.

To you, me and most
It's a whacked out, phony reason,
And to most seasoned nurses
It amounts to bold treason,
To allow, or make exception
To the bacterial creed,
Why, it makes my blood boil
To consider this deed.

But he swears on Gideon's Bible
And Kismets Koran,
The Dead Sea scrolls
And some crazy mojo-hand,
He says his ancestral relatives
Passed down this decree,
A mummy's curse will engulf you
If you place water on me.

He states, he has the power
By virtue of a dispensation,
After a sacred, secret ceremony
And fermented condensation,
To annihilate organisms
Within his auric field,
It's futuristic technology
That only he can wield.

It's tough to argue with that
Because the germs are so small,
You need a flippin' microscope
To see them at all,
So, if he claims he zapped them
Who are we to disagree,
He ought to be rewarded
With a perpetual royalty,
For inventing or discovering
This time-saving action,
Heck, in five years or less
It will be the main attraction.

His last bath was recorded
In nineteen-ninety-four,
And if you bother to ask him
He'll say, “Man, what a chore,
That dude in my care
He weighed 82 stone*,
Bath-time was a production
You couldn't do it alone”,
I had to call reinforcements
From Atlas and Bekins,
14 moving assistants
And the last of the Mohican's.

That was the last straw
Of his bathing career,
With just a look at a bath basin
He was quaking in fear;
He was referred to Psychiatry
Counseling and more,
He was offered electro-shock
And downers galore,
But they wouldn't stop the baths
Claiming, nursing obligation,
Whereby, he took them to court
For undisclosed compensation.

A period of disability
Or leave, you might say,
Gave him time to ponder
All night and all day,
To hobnob with mystics
Soothsayers and freaks,
Until revelation arrived
In seventeen weeks.

He learned the science of the aura
The body-electric, some have said,
It leaves pretty quickly
Soon after you’re dead,
But while you’re still alive
If you can master the grip,
You can wield way more power
Than the average ego trip.

So, for the next couple years
He practiced the habit,
Starting out with rodents
And an occasional rabbit,
Soon cleansing their fur
At forty-two yards,
Yes, to eliminate baths……….
It was written in the cards.

He took his invention
To Boston Scientific,
The greatest minds there said
“Man, this is terrific”,
And they induced him to return
With money (and him cursing),
To revolutionize bathing
In the field of Nursing.

Fibril_late;
7/2/08

*The stone is a unit of mass.
It is equal to 14 Lbs and to 6.35029318 Kg.

I'll admit it ahead of time..........this poem is annoyingly stupid. But it was inspired by a physician, so go figure.

This particular doctor in question, had the gall to actually say to the RN, (when she was reporting a potential life-threatening crisis) , and I quote: "Come clean nurse, tell me the truth".

According to "english.com": "come clean" = If someone comes clean about something, they admit to deceit or wrongdoing. So in other words, he was accusing her of lying.

Look Dr. Dude, this is 2008, and your idiotic idioms clearly date you and fate you!

By the way, anyone out there in reader-land, is welcome to add stanzas to this open-source poem!

Come Clean

Come clean, nurse

Tell the truth; no lying

Come clean, doctor

I got a feeling, you'll soon be dying

Come clean, nurse

You're a disgrace, to those of your kind,

Come clean, doctor

At least I have a brain and a mind,

Come clean, nurse

Do what I say and don't call me back,

Come clean, doctor

It sounds like you've been doing some smack,

Come clean, nurse

You better watch where you're going next time,

Come clean, doctor

You're overpaid, if they're paying you a dime,

Come clean, nurse

You're behaving like a clerk,

Come clean, doctor

You're acting like a jerk,

Come clean, nurse

Don't give me none of your jive,

Come clean, doctor

If you want to get out of here alive,

Come clean, nurse

It's clearly you are trippin'

Come clean, doctor

Don't get near me, you'll be flippin',

Come clean, nurse

You've got to give me some respect,

Come clean, doctor

I'm the one that's correct,

Come clean, nurse

You're nothing but a liar,

Come clean, doctor

I saw your face on a Post Office flier,

Come clean, nurse

You must have been educated in a zoo,

Come clean, doctor

I recognize you, so were you,

Come clean, nurse

When I talk, you're bein' paid to listen,

Come clean, doctor

You don't have a clue to what you're missin'

Come clean, nurse

You don't know your proper place,

Come over here, doctor

So I can spray you with a can of mace,

Come clean, Nurse

Don't you know, you're way out of line,

Come clean, Doctor

You know you've got a noodle for a spine,

Fibril_late;

6/29/08

Another morality tale; the details culled from several clients I've met.

The Final Straw

A chronicle of misfortune
Is the story of this sickness,
How it attacked with a passion
And a surprising quickness;

A 38 year old woman
And a mother to be,
Improperly educated
How cocaine, would set her free;

A history of smoking
A little alcohol,
At the time, when she did these things
They seemed so very small;

So with little consideration
She decided to bear a child,
Her evil ways were behind her
She no longer was wild;

But her body was damaged
In places deep beneath the skin,
Quite assuredly, she had repented
But she'd still suffer from the sin;

Gestational diabetes
Preeclampsia and hypertension,
Many other complications
And some I can not mention;

Until at last the final straw
Lay upon this camel's back,
She had a heart attack and stroke
All at once, in one great whack;

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

After 7 long weeks on life-support
She delivered a strapping young son,
But Momma was finished
Brain dead and wasted
Her body used up and all done,
She gave up the ghost
She passed on the scepter
And left what she had for the kid,
And written on her headstone
Engraved in New Roman
"Twas but, one good thing I did".

Fibril_late;
6/29/08

Life is good, when you're working with a group of individuals, who know what is best to do at any given moment.......................without a complaint, ...............and, the cards are played as they are laid.

At the Bash

The night officially started

With a crash, a bang and a boom,

It didn't let up for the next 12 hours -

We fought back, and conquered doom.

A culturally diverse set of warriors

Amidst the foul and smoky air,

Looked adversity in the eye

As an everyday event,

And practiced their expert care.

At the end of this grueling sojourn

We were bruised, but intact, though sore,

Made sure that we swiped

For every flippin' extra minute,

As we boogied out the back-exit door.

Looking back, I harbor good feelings

For the crew that performed at that bash,

Next time there's a proposal for a relay

They're my team for the 440 yard dash.

Fibril_late;

6/29/08

Sometimes when you move into a new community, an organization known as the "Welcome Wagon" stops by and tries to help you feel at home in a strange new place. Once you're settled in for a little bit, other elements creep out of the woodwork to offer their own brand of howdy-do; I call this the "Second-Hand Welcoming Committee".

I think it's just a part of the balance of the universe, and I've developed my own defense mechanisms, which I can sum up this way: "Never insult an alligator until after you have crossed the river".

Second Hand Welcome

The second-hand welcoming committee
Caught up with me last night,
They cornered me in the break-room
And gave me a little bite,
And I really have to say
How surprised I was, indeed,
Especially, because less than an hour before
I assisted in their time of need.

Perhaps amidst the crises and mayhem
That is ongoing in the ICU,
It causes one's memory to focus
On the evil that men will do,
Thus stomping out any semblance of gratitude
To another member of your troop,
Despite the fact, that I was there for you
In the midst of your moment of poop.

Well, you've growled and snarled and bitten
What else is in your repertoire'?
Need I look forward to more friendly gestures?
Perhaps next time you'll attack me with your car -
And as much as it sounds so exciting
I think I'll just avoid you instead,
After having a taste of your welcoming
No longer will I be misled.

Fibril_late;
6/08

I avoid confrontations at any cost because it makes my heart too jumpy. Instead, I just lash out in print. It's not cowardly; it's just a matter of self-preservation.

Taken Aside

After thirty years of service
I was finally "taken aside",
By a fellow RN workmate
I think she's Count Dracula's bride,
Apparently, I'd undermined her authority
By asking her to clarify some issue,
But maybe she's been smokin' some wacky tobacky
Or she's on her monthly tissue.

But, the upshot, the way that I see it
She blew the only chance that she'll get,
From this day forward, I'm telling you
I wouldn't trust her to wipe my sweat.

Fibril_late;
6/08

Overworked and underfed; it's a dangerous place to be......................

Time To Feed

I say, it's really awful
Oh Gawd, it's such a pain,
When I get so friggin' tired
Words get stuck inside my brain,
They exit my mouth all jumbled up
I talk like Mr. Yoda,
Why just now, I was telling Kate -
About my patient's hematoda;

You see, I was concerned about the size
Of the lady's groin and thigh,
I knew there were legitimate reasons
But still I wondered why,
So I had my charge nurse take a look
A gander, so to speak,
And to have a female present
When I gave that groin a peek;

Well, imagine my surprise
When I tried to tell my tale,
My mind was working overtime
While my jaws were set to fail,
To speak the words I needed
Regarding, this potential crisis,
And when my words came mumbling out
It was garbled, slices, dices;

Instantly, we both recognized
The intervention, I would need,
Just grant me a little 2 hour break
It was time for me to feed!

Fibril_late;
6/26/08

I think you'll agree:

We Promise Our Silence

You wanted to be there

During Code-Blue,

Why didn't you come in

During the enema too?

You wanted to be at bedside

When the doctor came around,

But when your Momma went bonkers

You were nowhere to be found.

You threatened to call your attorney

Because your Momma just died,

But we think you poisoned her

With a little cyanide;

So, take our advice

Leave quickly, without violence,

Then we won't call the police

And we promise our silence.

Fibril_late,

6/19/08

A.M.A - Against Medical Advice. It happens in the best of families.

Ray

A ray of sunshine

He was not,

An ornery drunkard

His lungs were shot,

A ray of foolishness

A pain in the arse,

Time spent in rehab

A total farce.

This patron of Harley

The barkeep's best friend,

Would have the last laugh

In the very end,

When he snuck out the back door

Against medical advice,

A cigarette was waiting

With Johnny Walker on ice.

Fibril_late;
6/17/08

Ray Revisited

There's no glimmer of intelligence

No dazzle of the mind,

No sparkle of imagination

Nor a flicker of the divine.

He's a flagrant, fugitive idler

A vagabond prince of denial,

After a 12 hour stint with this bloke

You feel like, you've been on trial.

No, he's not a ray of sunshine

Not a ray of hope,

And there's not a ray of hopefulness

For a handy length of rope.

Fibril_late;

6/18/08

This is one of those silly things I like to do occasionally; write a poem, where there is a "hidden" message, that is found by reading down, line-by-line, via the Capitol letters (they spell out a message). It's tough to do the rhyme, especially in 10 minutes time.

It's all about skin:

Feels Like Razors

Extremely painful

Xerxes claims,

Certainly, exposed skin

Onerously, inflames,

Right into the dermis

Incredibly horrid,

Always feels like razors

Totally florid,

Endure this for weeks or months?

Damn, too much! Even oneth!

Save the tissue, or

Kiss it goodbye,

I've seen it disappear, with

Nary, a wink of the eye.

One chance more, and I

Underscore,

Correct the problem

Handle the chore.

Fibril_late;

6/15/08

Thanks for the compliment, Nurse of the Hemodialysis. I was inspired to run with a title, though I didn't catch what you were talking about at the time: Hope you like it!

Samurai Nurse

Samurai Nurse

He has a katana at his side,

Samurai Nurse

They sought permission

Before they died.

Now, don't interpret this wrongly

They didn't die at the tip of his blade,

He was their advocate, protector and friend

He was the tree creating their shade.

Samurai Nurse

She moves quietly, efficiently, and sure,

Samurai Nurse

Found the way

That was ok, for the final cure.

Review if you wish

Be cautious, in your determination,

The Samurai Nurse cares not

Compassion, is her destination.

Sumurai Nurses originate

From all walks of life and more,

Experienced in destiny and death

In counsel, they can tell you the score,

The past and the present and the future

Are laid out, like the lines of your hand,

Samurai Nurses are there for you

They've seen it all;

All there is to understand.

Fibril_late;

6/14/08

Regarding, the duty we have, to speak up:

Stepping On Toes

Not a thing to write

Or maybe, I'm just too tired,

Sometimes, I have a little worry

That possibly, I'll be fired,

For stepping on the big toe

Of someone bigger than me,

Someone with, way more power

Who will prematurely set me free.

I'll step on anyone's toes

With the freedom-sword of thought,

Somewhere, along the line

That is what I was taught;

To speak my mind, when necessary

At the called upon, best moment in time,

In retrospect, I'm looking for

The opportunity, to make it rhyme.

I know that's kind of shallow

After all, I get a kick out of that line of action,

And it certainly, has its drawbacks

When I suffer from impaction,

Of the thought processes, or ideas

That might lead me towards cause and dispute,

If my spoken words are too late

There is little that I can refute.

That “reputation” word

I use, is quite common,

I sought counsel

From my local Shaman,

He told me to speak up

At least, that's the way it looked within my vision,

But maybe the mushrooms were talking

Influencing my decisions,

Kate, said it was alright

And I take her counsel, to my heart,

If you don't like what I'm writing

Take it up with her

After I depart.

Stepping on toes -

Well, that's just how life is,

You can't have a good soda

Without the fizz.

Fibril_late;

6/12/08

After returning to Nursing after a long hiatus, I must admit that I continue to have small worries, that I won't remember some critical piece of information, when the chips are down. Sure enough, the opportunity arose last week, where I was faced with a situation I hadn't participated in, for at least 7 years.

Little Details

It's really kind of humorous

When I, think it through,

I haven't seen a pacemaker

In five years plus two,

With me standing by

In the room, to assist,

Wondering which little details

I might have missed.

The doctor was patient

And I didn't freak,

But still I am glad

I won't be back for a week,

Because if something goes wrong

After the good doctor leaves,

My reputation is toast

And nobody grieves.

Fibril_late;

6/9/08

This is something about taking good care of yourself, so that old age can be enjoyed.

It's in the Bag

I've got it, figured out within my body
I have it scoped, complete within my head,
All the things I have to do to plan my future
To avoid becoming prematurely dead,
I guess it seems alright I'm over fifty
Half-way to the end and still I'm kickin',
But the problem that arises as you age
In a moment, oh my goodness, you might sicken.

But with the learning of the moment, we are smarter
Than the moment, just before, where we were not,
I have to tell you, it sounds stupid, just to say it
But sometimes, we are stupider than snot,
Don't ask me to explain it, for a moment
We're professionals, so we claim, it's on our tag,
With our education, license and our attitude
It's wrapped, I tell you man, it's in the bag.

Fibril_late'
6/5/08

On off days, I cover the gang beat.

Surely You'll Bleed

Though you might call this New-Age

You won't call it Disco,

It sure isn't the Funky Chicken

Or what they do in 'Frisco,

It's like the Dance of the Wolves

At Woodward and Third,

Where the neighborhood gangs

Are flipping the bird.

It's a choreographed performance

On the boulevard at night,

With souped-up Chevy's

And Camaro's, so tight,

GTO's and Caddies

A Lincoln or two,

Pontiac Bonneville's

And Firebird's on view

It's danger and hubris

All rolled into one,

City leaders call it violence

But we call it fun,

Where the gangs flex their muscle

And their chicks, flex whatever,

It's the infinity of youth

That goes on forever.

Forever, is short

If you're living the life,

Forget about girlfriends

Because the gang is your wife,

And like a cold-hearted mistress

Unforgiving, is her creed,

If you betray her one time

Why, surely you'll bleed.

6/2/08

Regarding how the con-man, so accustomed to cheating others, finds himself tricked by poor health, and can not fool the grim reaper.

Master of Tragedy

He's a master of tragedy

And ill-gotten gain,

He's always scheming and conning

With his devious brain,

But like all other humans

He can not escape,

The beady eyes of the Reaper

With his scythe and his cape.

So often, these felons

Take advantage of the weak,

Those seeking hope

In lives that are bleak,

Who lack in the typical

Resources of the rich,

And along comes the con-man

To toss them in the ditch.

The ultimate shakedown

Is just around the bend,

When the conman unexpectedly

Is faced with his end,

In the form of disease

Or as a victim of trauma,

All his conning and scheming

Are exposed, as rank drama.

When all his props and controls

Are left outside the door,

His snake-oil potions

Spill out on the floor,

All his misinformation

Built on shadows and lies,

Will land on deaf ears;

No one listens to his cries.

The end of the conman

The deceiver, the shark,

His body betrays him

He's the last, stupid mark*.

(* Fall guy; sucker; target; fool)

Fibril_late;

6/2/08

Working provides endless topics of inspiration: For example, here was a fella who talked non-stop. When he drifted into somnolence, he continued talking. And when he was conscious, his speech was peppered with four-letter profanity, aimed at his caregivers. I thought, "if only I could freeze his mouth for a couple of days"...................................

Reflexive Refrigerant Response

Conversing 24 hours a day

Does that classify as dementia?

Speaking in tongues at the top of his lungs

His sleep is in absentia,

24 hours is too damn long

To be foul mouthed and belligerent,

If he won't be quiet or zip his lip

I may have to fall back to refrigerant,

Freeze him up in mid-sentence

Words trapped in his frozen mouth,

When the doctor comes in to assess the man

I'll say, “Sorry, but he went south”.

That's well known slang from the Civil War

Attributed to General Sherman,

This case bears some vague similarities

With an outcome, we must wait to determine,

The reflexive refrigerant response

At times, cools the brain and the mind

With passive rewarming in a week or two

There's no telling what progress we'll find,

But thankfully, during that period

Peace and quiet will permeate our place,

And the doctor agreed to cover us

It was that, or get sprayed with mace.

Fibril_late;
6/2/08

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

Every night, the craziness continues. The general public is clueless about what goes on in the hospital when the sun goes down.

Agents of Chaos

The unforeseen consequences

Of unraveling spirals,

I am telling you, it's more than

Bacterial virals,

When your patient gets up

And whirls like a dervish,

It's crazy, whacked out

And makes me totally nervish.

Kate was with me that morning

And so was Ms. B,

When way over yonder

In room 893,

Mr. Whatzit got up

Spun in circles and cables,

Wound up like a top

In old Aesop's Fables.

He killed 6, with one blow

He fired mortars, o'er the wall,

And our biggest concern

Was that he would fall,

Because his left-arm was missing

And his right-brain was bonkers,

And I'd heard some big lawyer

Was driving up from New Yonkers.

The worst of our fears

Like whirling twisters,

Bosses from the big house

Were developing blisters,

From the tickets they'd written

Regarding the fouls of this case,

What a collective embarrassment

On dear, sisters' face.

Our careers were on the line

Our licenses in peril,

This whirling dervish

Had us over a barrel,

And collectively we three

Had over a hundred years knowing,

Cyclonic phenomenon

Like an ill wind, were blowing.

We gathered our thoughts

And pondered each option,

We knew if we failed

We'd be up for adoption,

Three orphans of nursing

Tossed out with the trash,

When suddenly, Kate

Had a powerful flash,

Of woman's intuition and

Her Feng Shui power,

She said, this agent of chaos

Needs a bath or a shower.

Ms. B gathered towels

While I warmed the water,

We all prayed to Gaea

And Chaos, her daughter,

To reveal to us the means

To find peace amidst fury,

Then we soaped up our washcloths

And bathed in a hurry.

The spirals unraveled

The twisters tore down,

The cyclones collapsed

Into fairy-tale town,

While the bystanders cheered

And authorities arrived,

Ms. B, Kate and I

Why we, just high-fived!

Heroes of Nursing

They called us, that day,

Be we all knew better

With a smirk, as if to say,

Our backs will be stabbed

Before the sun goes down,

Because heroes are orphans

In fairy-tale town.

Fibril_late;

5/26/08

HOH - Hard of Hearing. We've all been there with the individual who can't hear a pin drop, let alone an H-bomb drop. But, what if it was you?

Cousin Vinnie

I haven't heard a thing in 34 years
Everyone is giving me lip,
Yelling at me like I'm a crazy person
I tell them to just get a grip,
Because what is the point of the yelling
It's obvious I'm as deaf as an adder,
In a way, it's all kind of humorous
To watch them get madder and madder.

Of course, some of the time I get irritated
Some people are dumber than dirt,
It appears that they think that a deaf person
Has lost the capacity to hurt,
They don't think that I know what they're saying
With their wise-cracks, as they exit the room,
Little do they know, my cousin Vinnie
Will blow up their car, Ba-da-boom!

Fibril_late;
5/24/08

Sometimes talk is cheap and other times it's dangerous, because it may delay treatment. "Nuff" said.

Wizards of the Badlands

Can you tell what's real

Do you know what's not,

Can you determine from 50 yards

If it's sputum or snot?

Does an elevated CO2

Of one-twenty-five,

Give you any indication

About the odds, if he's alive?

Well, maybe for a while

But I wouldn't place any bets,

I think it's time to call your markers

And pay off any debts,

Because arguments at this time

Are pointless and invalidated,

Just get the flippin' ventilator

Before you're excommunicated.

Now don't take this personal

We're all hired hands,

It's just that some of us call the shots

While other's holler from the stands,

With an opinion here and there

About what ought-to-be,

And at this very moment

You should be listening to me,

Because this dude is going south

He needs an endotracheal tube,

Please don't stand there arguing

Like some existential rube,

Quoting laboratory data

And his history of CO2,

We're the wizards of the badlands

And we know much more than you.

We don't want to code this sucker

We don't want a Rapid Response,

We don't want to toast his remains

With a sterling-silver sconce,

No, all we want to do

Is the best right thing, right now,

And that my friend, is to intubate

Before I have a cow!

Fibril_late;

5/23/08

Perhaps you've seen the weekend news regarding the West Virginia woman who had a cardiac arrest, brain-dead EEG, rigor mortis setting in, and had been slated for donor status, when she abruptly came back to life, and has been found to have absolutely nothing wrong with her heart!

Here's the link:
http://www.newsnet5.com/health/16363548/detail.html

This prompted me, to once again write about the miraculous events, that some of us have been participants in or witnesses to:

The Miracle Flavor

Miracles happen

Oh, yes they do indeed,

It has nothing to do with religion

Or the basis of your creed,

It has to do with the unbelievable

Beyond any science we know,

But in the presence of our sophistication

The most scientific mind will grow;

Knowing miracles truly can happen

I'm not talking about blind faith or dreams -

------------------

When the dead come to life

Beyond the limits of survival,

And there is proof beyond truth

Without electrical revival,

Too many witnesses

To possibly discount,

Not one of them cares

About the Sermon on the Mount,

No one of them talking

About the power of prayer,

Not a single one thing

About the power up there,

Those pragmatic, no nonsense

Scientific minds,

Totally surprised

With the results of their finds,

Everyone of them halting

In wonder, amazed,

Whispering to each other

Quite totally dazed,

Holding precious, this moment

In their own way, to savor,

Finally knowing they've tasted

The miracle flavor.

Fibril_late;

5/23/08

Go figure! We admit a DNR and then she died in about 4 hours. Now, that was one heck of a waste of resources, I'm telling you. So I think we need to revisit the whole DNR thing.

Too Damn Late

DNR by definition
Means, Do Not Resuscitate,
You don't belong in the ICU
Because it's too damn late,
You shouldn't be admitted
In the notorious 11th hour,
We don't do resurrections -
We don't have the power.

DNR, should mean
Do not re-locate,
A sudden change of scenery
Has no effect on your fate,
And though the nurses look like models
From the pages of the New York Times,
DNR, is just abbreviated nonsense
That fits into this funeral rhyme.

Fibril_late;
5/23/08

I'd been looking for the Underside of Nursing, 1998 archive, and at last I realize I found it! Just a few entries that year, and quite a few are funny. This one must have been inspired by some news report of a Surgery gone awry. One of those instances, where the wrong body part is removed.

Speechless

Doctor, dear doctor
I thank you
That medicine sure did the trick,
The minor complaints I was suffering
Are gone, because now I am sick,
The pill that you gave for my tremors
A side effect from some other med,
Has been making my heart so irregular
Tomorrow, I just might be dead.

Doctor, dear doctor
I’m speechless
It shouldn’t have happened this way,
You cut out my tongue and my larynx
And replaced them with paper mache’,
I have a buzzer
Where I once had a voice-box
I pour dinner
Through a tube in my gut,
When all I needed
Was a simple excision,
To take out a mole on my butt.

Fibril_late;
1/98

Back when I worked at the "Big House" (name hidden to protect the innocent), it was a place that encompassed Medical doctor training. Working in the ICU's, a nurse had to stand by, when those trainees, were doing all sorts of line-placements. Some of those blokes, didn't remember landmarks of anatomy very well. For example, when searching for the femoral artery, one is supposed to remember the following mnemonic: Nerve, artery, vein.
This poem describes my frustration, watching an untrained operator, poking around in the groin area, of some unfortunate male subject.

Back to School

Nerve, artery, vein, uh-oh
Be careful where you poke,
Your next testiculectomy
Won't understand the joke.

Nerve, artery, vein, oh darn
You missed again, you fool,
One more try and if you fail
You're going back to school.

Nerve, artery, vein, oh well
You missed it by a mile,
You'll be a great success at Burger Boy
With your attitude and smile.

Fibril_late;
1/98

10 Years ago, I wrote this one about suicide. And I think it was in regards to the one who suffers first, relentless pain, and then this leads to a severe depression.

The End of All Dreams

The future has ended
Tomorrow is past,
The end of all dreams
Happens way too fast.

It's the uncommon denominator
Of depression and pain,
When the cleanup is over
There is hardly a stain.

What do they think?
The family, the friend,
When the one that they loved
Orchestrated the end,
With a bullet or poison
Or exhaust-pipe inhaled,
They'll spend the rest of their lives
Wondering how they had failed.

Have you ever been a bystander
Reviewing the remains,
After Jo-Jo, the party guy
Blew out his brains,
You think over and over
If only I knew,
But you can't buy enough
Of miracle glue.

Fibril_late;
1/98

Working night-shift, some nurses depend on caffeine to help them through the night. One night there were complaints, regarding the making of coffee, and the possible absence of caffeine.

Coffee Rapture

It was a coffee calamity

Of epic proportion,

Where I promised caffeine

But gave a decaf distortion.

Humor was absent

And tempers were hot,

I felt there was a chance

That I might get shot,

With a bolus of potassium

In my right cheek,

Don't mess with a woman

On her PMS peak.

It was a caffeine debacle

I made a mistake,

It was steamy and hot

But the coffee was fake,

'Twasn't Starbucks or Peets

Or even Java City,

The abuse I was rendered

I can tell you, wasn't pretty.

My rep, to that point

Was looking pretty good,

I'd saved a few lives

In my new neighborhood,

But in 7 minutes time

It all went down the drain,

Believe me when I tell you

That Nurses know pain.

Well, I got on my knees

In the eye of my mind,

I pondered deep and hard

For a solution to my bind,

To vanquish my transgression,

In the eyes of my peers,

After all, I had planned

To work a few years.

I'd bribe them with food

And bargain days off,

I'd take all the patients

That spit, puke and cough,

The multi-organ failures

On week thirty-three,

If only they would forget about -

That night..................caffeine-free.

Some committee is reviewing

My position at this joint,

Wiser heads, than those I work with

Have a task-force to anoint,

So they can banter back and forth

Like a political machine,

Recommendations to our boss

A referendum for caffeine.

Policies and Procedures

Are like the Constitution,

When the word becomes law

It's time to stop the retribution,

And just forget the whole story

Behind my reputation capture,

Knowing some night very soon

We'll experience caffeine rapture.

Fibril_late

5/18/08

This 3-word line popped into my head; so I ran with it.

Tall as Wide

It's a very bad thing
If you're tall as wide,
It's not one of those things
You can easily hide,
And you just might think
That you're on the ball,
But to everyone else
You're just rolling down the hall.

I can't say that I know
What to do about this condition,
But one thing's for certain
It's not a dietary omission,
Though it might possibly reflect
On some lifestyle choices,
Some of us drive Yugo's
And others Rolls-Royces.

What I possibly allude to
Is the dichotomy of this age,
When all things regarding good
Can be read upon a page,
And advertised on TV
The radio and wireless,
Perhaps the populace is inured
Because advertising is tireless.

Because it's hard to believe
That you can't control your weight,
Although certainly there are disorders
And diseases of the state,
Of the homeostasis of your
Body and your mind,
That are beyond lifestyle choices
And all the fun you can find.

When you are as tall as you are wide
Presents problems you must endure,
If preventable, we'd be happy
Because we all love a cure.

Fibril_late;

5/17/08

A family of trolls, they were. You had to be there, but I wouldn't advise it.

Still Doing Dope

72 years old
And still doing dope,
Maybe she needs more length
In her self-hanging rope,
But then I saw her kids
And saw what-is-to-be,
I'd like to give them all ropes
Guaranteed and free.

Now, I know that's not cozy
I'm a nurse, after all,
All lives are redeemable
There's a tide before the fall,
But I don't have time
In critical-care,
To sling hopeful platitudes
While they are gasping for air.

I met four offspring
And they were short in the tooth,
I guess they traded them in
At the methamphetamine booth,
And they swagger through life
Just like Momma-dearest,
In a family contest
They were the queerest!

Fibril_late;

5/14/08

(Part II)

All In the Family


The 8th decade of life
Could be one of reflection,
But in your case, you're still fighting
A ravaging infection,
Brought on by stupid choices
And tired excuses,
Ill-devised foolishness
And substance abuses.

Having met your progeny
Perhaps you're attempting to escape,
Collectively I was impressed
By their sorry-assed shape,
And you know that the apple
Doesn't fall far from the tree,
A whole family abusing drugs
Is the way it looks to me.

I was creeped-out for sure
When your number one daughter,
Made a beeline for me
With her eyes full of slaughter,
Demanding I call the Doctor
About methadone for Momma,
I figured she was a dead-ringer
For the wife of Osama.

I called Central Services
For pepper-spray and mace,
While she pulled out a Taser
And aimed it at my face;
I drew down on her with a scalpel
And dove under my chair,
Remembering "duck and cover"
While gasping for air.

She fired that Taser
And it hit Betty Lou,
There wasn't a damn thing
That anyone could do,
As Betty hit the floor
With a resounding thump,
That daughter was reloading
When I got the jump,
And I knocked her on the head
With the PDR,
While silently praying
I hadn't gone too far,
Such that I might get sued
By the family from hell,
But all she got was a bump
And man, did it swell.

Now she swung up that Taser
For shot number two,
While screaming, “Dear Momma
I do it for you”,
And in the midst of her soliloquy
I grabbed the defibrillator,
Zapped her at 360, saying
“Sayonara, see you later”.

It was a terrific free-for-all
That night in CCU,
Did you hear, that we're hiring
We're looking for you,
Fringe benefits are awesome
Martial Arts are a plus,
Just don't read the fine print
When you jump on our bus.

Fibril_late;
5/16/08

Here is a topic that never grows old; the incredibly sloppy handwriting of Doctors. Quite frankly, if you were to read my sloppy script, you might be of the same opinion. Maybe the greatest upcoming news, is that the health-care system is attempting to convert to computer charting, ordering, note-taking and so on: the Electronic Medical Record. So, it's probably my last chance to rail about it.

Your Writing

We've endured 25 years
Of your ineligible writing,
Frequent arguments
And frequent fighting,
Taxing your patience
Taxing mine,
Suits of malpractice
With threats of a fine.

You claim that your writing
Is easily understood,
But maybe you learned to write
In your old neighborhood,
Spray painting graffiti
On back alley walls,
Darkened parking structures
Behind shopping malls,
Gang rants and ravings
Bravado in paint,
Long before Med-school
And your status as saint.

Your beginnings are well hidden
Amidst your professional scrawl,
Hidden by your plaques and diplomas
On your office wall,
But for those of us who must decipher
Your scribbled orders and notes,
If this was a handwriting competition
You wouldn't get any votes.

Fibril_late;
5/12/08

Finally the end.........of the latest fugue* of writing.

Rhyming as Remedy

'Twas a high-output weekend
Of poetry and pain,
This rhyming as remedy
Is a panacea to my brain,
And the fictitious characters
Though realistic in their pose,
Are but whims of imagination
Unrelated to those,
In the narrow proximity
Of the proposed field of action,
All the truths I tell, are lies;
Should shield me from retraction.

Fibril_late;
5/11/08

*Fugue: A dream-like state of altered consciousness.

The truth, is sometimes, long in the tooth.

Surrounded By Girth

I lost my hand
In Billy-Bob's belly,
During an application
Of Nystatin jelly,
His pannus was huge
A multi-fold monstrosity,
I tried to escape
But it slowed my velocity,
When entropy ensued
And I was trapped in the fold,
My life passed ‘fore my eyes
Was I getting too old?
To partake in these shenanigans
Also known as, nursing care,
I’m fifty-five and puny
Compared to those who pay the fare.

My elbow disappeared
In Billy-Bob’s fold,
It was a scary situation
While I was hunting for mold,
And that’s one of those conditions
Of nightmarish ideation,
A multi-cellular symbiosis
Like the dawn of creation,
What would I be like
If I survived the ordeal,
Reduced to protoplasm
Or look like a wheal,
Of antagonized tissue
At the scene of the crime;
Mold is slippery stuff
It’s intelligent slime.

Buried to my shoulders
In Billy-Bob’s bowels,
The odor was horrific
And I was gasping for vowels,
To express my consternation
In my time of greatest need,
Looking back in retrospect
I prefer it when they bleed,
Because I can fix it with a bag
From a universal donor,
But now I’ve been reduced
To an air-gasping moaner,
With barely enough strength
To call out for a mate,
I’m left pondering my demise
Should I reincarnate?

We’re surrounded by girth
It’s a scary situation,
An elephantiasis epidemic?
Or obesity maturation,
You can’t tell from the surface
Though it’s a menace for sure,
But the ultimate question -
How will Nurses endure?

Fibril_late;
5/11/08

There is a "story teller" wherever one works, isn't that right?

Drama Queen

She's a drama queen
There is no doubt,
She'll use every opportunity
To shake and shout,
Like she's on a mission
Of pain and glory,
If you stick around
And bear witness to her story.

She's a drama queen
And if she spots a crowd,
She'll go from quiet thoughts
To being very loud,
Her lack of respect
Is boorish and operatic,
While her demand for attention
Is so friggin' dramatic!

She's a drama-queen

I tell you no lie,

New episodes will be written

Until the day she dies,

Every waking moment

She's like a target, waiting

A ready recipient

For drama-mating.

She's a drama queen
I'm telling you,
She has a distorted
Point of view,
As if the world revolves
Around her little old self,
Without attention
She'd rot on a shelf.

Fibril_late;
5/11/08

Here is quicky about personalities at work.

Personalities

Personalities at work
Are so diverse,
Sometimes it's a blessing
At other times a curse.

Fibril_late;
5/11/08

This is one of those universal statements, that describes a type of person who is always found in large, megalithic organizations. I'm sure you'll recognize the character.

Personality Deficit Syndrome

Personality Deficit Syndrome
Runs rampant in this joint,
Every time someone retires
There's a new one to anoint,
The candidates are racing forward
Aimed at the Administrators door,
Filling out forms in triplicate
Just praying, they'll be the one to score.

There must be a certain kind of engineering
Is it culture, genetics or what?
Some type of specialized grooming
To become, a pain in the butt,
Devoid of a qualifying personality
Lacking interpersonal skills,
If I'm around a person like this, too long
I come down with a case of the chills.

Personality Deficit Syndrome
Is dangerous, of that I am sure,
Despite decades and piles of research
There's no evidence of a successful cure,
And so, the candidates keep rolling in
Lacking any notable capabilities,
And the official stance of our management?
Who cares, you can't deny their servility!

Fibril_late;
5/11/08

There has been an excess of girth in our neck of the woods lately, with the end result being this pathetic stab at humor.

From Dearth to Girth

From breath to death
And from dearth to girth,
It's all strain and pain
From birth unto earth.

So;
Is there any correlation
Connection or mate,
To the auspicious signs
A birth-plan or fate?

Lo;
Life is a passage
A journey, a fjord,
Live a long arduous life
And fall on thy sword.

Fibril_late:
5/10/08

There are circumstances where (if I had the power) I would occasionally bestow honorary sainthood upon one of my coworkers, for deeds done, way beyond the call of duty.

Beatified

Beatified, dear Betty should be
After cleaning vomit, poop and pee,
And before the lights went down
And she'd raised the rails,
She washed the hair, and teeth and nails.

Her advice to me, and I'll heed it well
Patient's do better, when they have a good smell,
And pad the bed; why, that's her creed
Because patient's will vomit, poop and bleed.

Fibril_late;
5/10/08

Death.
I speak for myself, but perhaps others have similar impressions. Working in a critical care setting for 25 years now, I've witnessed hundreds of deaths / passings. These experiences are influenced by the persons / families associated with that patient who is dying. At the same time, our perceptions are influenced by who we are and what members of the staff, are also sharing in that death experience. It can become very disruptive and disconcerting, or it can be a time of peace and healing. It may be tragic or revelatory, horrific or ordinary. But as long as we remain human and compassionate, each death will be unique and worthy of respect.

See the Angels

"If only we could see the angels taking her away"
I heard those very words, when I was present the other day,
When that good woman died, at the end of her shortened life
She'd been a loving mother, she'd been a wonderful wife.

I can't say that I knew her
We had the briefest of introductions,
I can say that I cared for her
Because those were my instructions,
And during those few hours of care
Her spirit, I came to know,
Such that I can tell you truthfully
I felt her spirit go.

If only we could see the angels
Taking her away,
I didn't see them, but they were present
When she departed yesterday.

Fibril_late;
5/7/08

I posted this about 2 years ago, but thought I would display it one more time, because this is an important workplace topic that is being talked about in my local environ. Here is the whole piece:

For 15 years, I was a member of a bargaining unit, a union, and Nursing hammered out an agreement every few revolutions around the sun. We earned 1 sick day a month, had 3 weeks of vacation, holidays, education days, and who knows what else. But there was an undeclared and secret rule; "don't use your sick days too much". You would be shocked to see how many sick hospital personnel, go to work, because they are afraid of "calling in sick", because this might garner a reprimand, that would go into their personnel file. Talk about a freakin' walking, talking, fomite under power!

A Bitter Pill

A reprimand
If you are ill,
Is what I call
A bitter pill,
Though I know the system
Gets abused;
When reprimanded
I feel used.

I know my Nursing
Contract states,
That I'm allotted
Sickness dates,
To use at my
Mature discretion,
Without requiring
An employee confession.

So please don't try
To threaten me,
With some secret
Unit policy,
Nor threaten my yearly
Pay raise portion,
Or I will charge you
With extortion.

Fibril_late; 5/94

Here are two poems from my 2001 Archive.

Nurse

Your Excellence
Your Compassion
And your Soul,
Enhance the healing
That is imbued
Within your role,
To reach out
To offer comfort
To another,
Maybe an enemy
A neighbor
Or a brother.

Like a magnet
You have invisible power,
This path of healing
Is a beautiful flower;
With the water of compassion
And the sunlight of your care,
No words can describe
The divinity that you share.

Will you heal all the people that you treat?
It's not your role to accomplish such a feat,
Like an ocean with a shore upon each side
The continuum of life is deep and wide.

Fibril_late;
7/13/01

Ode to the Recoverers

They stand beyond the Surgeons gate
Dressed in sheens of life,
Waiting to receive the Sacred ones
Who touched the Surgeons' knife.

Masters of assessment
They're always poised for action,
Amidst chaos and disorder
They exhibit no distraction.

Every little vital sign
Is examined for perfection,
Should one deviate the slightest
They will seek the best correction,
To stabilize your system
To the nth of nth degree,
The Recoverers will protect you
It's their duty bound decree.

Suffice to say, a surgery
Like a minefield, has its dangers,
And when you rouse to wakefulness
You don't want to deal with strangers,
The Recoverers will care for you
Like a member of their clan,
They're agents of goodwill and hope
Because that's their master plan.

What purpose is their calling
What caused them to enroll,
What secrets do they harbor
In the depths of mind and soul,
The answer to these questions
Is never understood,
A thousand words can not define
The blessed and the good.

Fibril_late;
1/01

It's about neatness...................

Tangled-String Theory

We talked about this
Just last night,
How some people are neatniks
And are willing to fight,
About the necessity of order
And the fixed way of things,
While others like myself
Give disorder a fling.

It would be totally untrue
To call me a slob,
But a passion for neatness
Isn't a part of my job,
I just can't get fanatical
About the placement of the linen,
I place vital signs and viability
At the end and the beginnin'.

I admit to being totally frenzied
When the lines are all twisted and coiled,
In a moment, I nearly lose all control
As if my brain and my blood have been boiled,
And according to tangled-string theory
This phenomenon cannot be prevented,
Like a contortionist freebasing adrenaline
Within minutes, I am totally demented.

Suffice to say, in the above scenario
The neatness of my lines, holds no rival,
I say, screw all the linen and the plastic essentials
I know the secret to my survival,
And if I know where the essential cables and IV's
Are attached to the patient and pumps,
I can pretty much guarantee, that after 12 hours
My patient won't be in the dumps.

Every nurse has their particulars
And our priorities, don't necessarily match,
I've seen so many patients die, during a bath
The group qualifies as a classified batch,
And if you're rustling around, with your mind on the neatness
Of the furniture, room and possessions,
You might overlook some physiological disaster
While attending to your neatness obsessions.

Fibril_late;
5/4/08

Today, 12 hours post night shift, my brain-waves are flipping and flopping. The following poem is about duality.

Flip-Flop

There's a flip side to everything
And here's the flip,
No matter where your journey leads
It's still a crazy trip.

There's a flap side to everything
And here's the flap,
What flies through the air
Just might land in your lap,
When it gets in the air
It has a tendency to hover,
And should that stuff hit the fan
You better duck and cover.

There's a flop side to everything
And here's the flop,
You can sow some good seeds
And still get a bad crop,
You can cut out the deadwood
To eradicate the weevil,
But still, the best intentions
May turn out to be evil.

The best laid plans of
Big mice and little men,
Are often torn asunder
By the power of the pen,
And while the downside type of person
Will tell you, what they should have had,
Each experience will be tainted
When all they see is bad.

So the flip side to me
Might be the flop side to you,
It's just a matter of perspective
A singular point of view,
And there is a flip side to everything
But to me, it's all the same,
The experience is the reward
It's a unique kind of game.

Fibril_late; 5/1/08

Superstitions? Do they have a valid place in the work-setting? Perhaps not, but they are practiced all over the world, even here in the enlightened USA.

Superstitious

Superstitious practices
Of educated folks,
To the level-headed pragmatist
It seems to be a joke.

But the degree of education
Can't be factored in the mix,
When modern medicine itself
Looks like a bag of magic tricks.

Nurses of the ICU
Are superstitious creatures,
We're trained to look for omens
And other sickly features,
That might portend a menacing
Or evil lurking force,
Like that creature of Mr. Websters
The headless man and horse.

When we get a special feeling
That death is prowling near,
We don't cringe or shake and shudder
Nor show a bit of fear,
But we'll roll the mighty crash cart
To the threshold of their room,
An invisible shield of power
Dispelling any doom.

Another nurse prepares
An empty room this way,
She freshens up the linens
All equipment is OK,
With a flourish of her wand
She casts a spell both left and right,
Protecting her from admits
All throughout the night.

A thousand different nurses
Have a manifold of ways,
Some work best in the middle of night
And others during days,
Thus with superstitious practices
Of an educated crew,
Our workplace is safe and guarded
It's the prognostic thing to do.

Fibril_late;
4/30/08

A flight of ideas, clumped together, wandering around like atrial fibrillation.

Exhaustion and Fatigue

I pretend that I’ll write
After work, so inspired,
But more often than not
I am just, grossly tired,
Overly fatigued
From the labors of thinking,
Junk food snacking
And coffee drinking,
Weight-lifting patients
Who didn’t diet, last year,
Decubitus ulcers
Draining gallons of beer,
Or something quite similar
I kid you, not,
It smells like it’s fermented
And has the thickness of snot.

What clients like these
Are doing at our station,
We can’t figure out
It’s an abomination,
We’re a Cardiac Unit
It’s supposed to be clean,
But the hospital has become
An infection machine,
Where any Tom, Bill or Mary
With a debilitating disease,
Will squander our resources
Can you say, “Medicare, please?”

Now, the specialist doctors
And in-house boss leaders,
Looked hard at statistics
And the money-loss bleeders,
They initiated a recommended
Model of care,
An around-the-clock doctor
Is the latest fresh air,
To attack any problem
Or intervene in a crisis,
They will drown it with knowledge
And life-saving devices,
And the specialist doctors
Can be home with the wife,
Finally having a chance
To live a doctor-normal life.

Now, this 24-hour physician
Is the latest twist,
They have a catchy kind of name
Hospital-ist,
And they seem kind of young
Like they recently jumped ship,
They have their hand-held computers
And their language is hip,
They say, “no problem” and “what‘s up”
When they’re paged at oh-four-hundred,
Often reluctant to make decisions
And be accused that they blundered,
In the middle of the night
With a patient they didn’t know,
So, it’s business as usual
In this medical picture show.

Once again, I have rambled
“Like, what was the point?”
You are probably thinking
I was smoking a joint,
But it all had to do
With exhaustion and fatigue,
This ain’t the sandbox, boy
“Like, it’s totally, major league”.

Fibril_late;
4/28/08

Countless times I have seen the individual patient who had clearly stated and defined in their written record, that they held a "DNR" classification. Yes, that's right, Do Not Resuscitate. Oh, but then they need to have some kind of surgery and DNR apparently doesn't play on the sound system in the O.R.
So, for just a short time.........they will be temporarily classified as a "Full Code". If something bad happens, like a cardiac / respiratory arrest, then they will receive the Cadillac Escalade of emergency therapies. Somehow a few brain-stem neurons survive, their heart keeps beating, they do some guppy breathing and bingo!, they slowly dissolve over the next 7 weeks. What the heck?!? I could have sworn I read "DNR" on his Admission Record!

It is a horrid, unethical, immoral crime against humanity. Hard to say that in the same breath, when we claim we are advocates for human dignity. Give me a flippin' break, Jake!

Free Resuscitation

When I got too old
To drive my car,
My doctor made me
A DNR,
But when I went in
For my surgery,
They offered resuscitation
Completely free.

That's a heck of a deal
The surgeon said,
If you crump on the table
We'll bring you back from the dead,
Because we don't want people dying
In our operation room,
It's bad for my reputation
And it's a flippin', dollar doom.

But worry not, sir
There ain't no one better,
We operate by the book
Down to the last letter,
And the gist of all of this talk
Is about risks and regulations,
You'll come through with flying colors
And standing ovations.

So you did poorly, after surgery
Well, it's clearly not our fault,
We performed what we promised
And you didn't tell us to halt,
When you had the opportunity
Before morbidity and mortality,
Would get the upper hand
And you'd become a fatality.

You should have put your foot down
And stayed a DNR,
'Cause now you're riding in a hearse
Which you traded for your car.

Fibril_late;
4/28/08

I can't begin to explain this whole time-card thing, but I can take a stab at it with a rhyme [actually, it's becoming a series of poems -5]:

Time-Clock Wars

When I went back to work
The time-clock wars were raging,
What with Union regulations
And Administrative staging,
Petty minds and silly rules
Made professionals shake in their boots,
Sure to chase us into retirement
To make room for some ignorant recruits.

Dead Brain Waves

Part II; Time-Clock Wars

The old ones are dropping, like flies in the sun
They've worked here for years, and they're nearly all done
With the hemodynamics of pressure, dead brain waves and more,
While some obsessive-compulsive janitorial panel
Should be placed in strait-jackets constructed of flannel
Because this break-time snafu, is just one more, insane stupid chore.

(Chorus):
Snafu, is just another
Of my favorite acronyms,
Like, s-bar and fubar
And flams that are flims,
By combining these terms
We can describe where we are,
This time-clock snafu
Has become a fubar.


Two Fifteen's
Part III; Time-Clock Wars

Did you clock your 30 minutes
Did you take your two "fifteens",
Did you record it for posterity
Or just to earn your magic beans?

This time-clock we pay homage to
Is omnipotent, and called Ceridian,
It must be approached with deep devotion
At the 45th meridian,
Seven minutes before or after
On any quarterly divide,
Don't ask me to explain it
I'd much rather let it slide,
Because, here it comes around again
It's my golden opportunity,
If I don't swipe my badge correctly
I'll be punished without impunity.

Fibril_late; 4/9/08

Souffle' Surprise
Part IV; Time-Clock Wars

The soup has thickened
The griddle is hot,
This Ceridian concoction
Is thicker than snot,
New broth was added
For more flavor, less spice,
But the dishes on the table
All come with a price.

The chef is ticked off
The waitress is bloated,
They both missed their break
When the soufflé' exploded,
And when that egg hit the fan
Why, everyone ducked,
They collectively exclaimed -
We are totally mucked!

(Actually, my agent was there and heard something different... but that's another story!)
Fibril_late; 4/10/08

Us Dogs
Part V; Time-Clock Wars

Even when some dogs are sleeping
Others will remain awake,
We vigilant loyal watchdogs
Recognize what is at stake,
Our masters wish to control all our boundaries
Including leash laws and when we may rest,
How they revel in their control of our destiny
To us dogs, it's just another stupid test.

Fibril_late; 4/28/08

Exploited
Part VI; Time Clock Wars

Yes, I clocked my 30 minutes
Yes, I took my 2 "fifteens",
And someone marked it in a book
Though I don't know what it means,
It might be evaluated
By some expert panel folks,
In the meantime, I've exploited it
To rhyme these silly jokes.

Fibril_late;
5/4/08

Out of Reach

I use to enjoy
Calling you on the phone,
No matter the mood
You had a good tone,
With your sharp witted thoughts
And colorful speech,
But now, dear old friend
You seem far out of reach.

(to be continued)

Fibril_late;
4/25/08