She saw the kids on the slide,
each with their own
burden to bear:
burn scars,
post operative
patients,
cancer victims
counting the last days
on their thin fingers,
a kid with an eye gone,
lid sewn.
And she, Anne,
amputee, bad
tempered *****
12 year old,
big bosomed,
fine of remaining limb,
scanning the rest,
seated
in the wheel chair,
Skinny Kid behind,
hands on the handles,
warm breath
on her neck.
She was bored,
sun too bright,
kids too noisy,
nurse fart-arsing
near by,
taking temperatures,
changing wound
bandages, crouched
to see eye to eye,
thighs showing
stocking tops.
Hey, Kid,
she said,
get a peek at that,
indicating the thighs
and stocking tops
on view.
The Kid, thin arms
and legs, short hair,
11 year old, stared,
took in stocking legs,
black, warming,
looked away.
Don't get to see
that every day,
Kid, unless
you're their old man
or fond lover,
Anne said,
grinning ear to ear.
Skinny Kid,
stood, loyal,
whispered into
her neck,
want me to push you
to the beach?
sure, Kid,
get me
from these wounded ones,
these dying doomed,
let me smell
the salt and sea,
let me hear
the sea's song.
So the Kid, pushed
the chair, arms
out stretched,
over lawn,
down path,
she singing,
rude lyrics,
her one remaining leg
rocking
to the chairs' move,
the stump, showing
where her skirt ended,
shook and rocked.
Out the back gate,
onto the path
by the beach,
out of the nurse's sight,
or sound of voice's reach.
She thinking
of the Kid's
loyal touch,
his heaving her
from chair to bed,
the night before,
his thin arms
clutching tight
in case she fell,
the warm bed
embracing,
holding her down,
he standing there,
gazing at her
bare stump
with that innocent
stare.
He thinking,
as he pushed along,
how red
her stump was
the night before,
how the thigh
of her other leg
was white as snow
compared,
going red
as he stared.
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 2:53 PM UTC
She saw the kids on the slide,
each with their own
burden to bear:
burn scars,
post operative
patients,
cancer victims
counting the last days
on their thin fingers,
a kid with an eye gone,
lid sewn.
And she, Anne,
amputee, bad
tempered *****
12 year old,
big bosomed,
fine of remaining limb,
scanning the rest,
seated
in the wheel chair,
Skinny Kid behind,
hands on the handles,
warm breath
on her neck.
She was bored,
sun too bright,
kids too noisy,
nurse fart-arsing
near by,
taking temperatures,
changing wound
bandages, crouched
to see eye to eye,
thighs showing
stocking tops.
Hey, Kid,
she said,
get a peek at that,
indicating the thighs
and stocking tops
on view.
The Kid, thin arms
and legs, short hair,
11 year old, stared,
took in stocking legs,
black, warming,
looked away.
Don't get to see
that every day,
Kid, unless
you're their old man
or fond lover,
Anne said,
grinning ear to ear.
Skinny Kid,
stood, loyal,
whispered into
her neck,
want me to push you
to the beach?
sure, Kid,
get me
from these wounded ones,
these dying doomed,
let me smell
the salt and sea,
let me hear
the sea's song.
So the Kid, pushed
the chair, arms
out stretched,
over lawn,
down path,
she singing,
rude lyrics,
her one remaining leg
rocking
to the chairs' move,
the stump, showing
where her skirt ended,
shook and rocked.
Out the back gate,
onto the path
by the beach,
out of the nurse's sight,
or sound of voice's reach.
She thinking
of the Kid's
loyal touch,
his heaving her
from chair to bed,
the night before,
his thin arms
clutching tight
in case she fell,
the warm bed
embracing,
holding her down,
he standing there,
gazing at her
bare stump
with that innocent
stare.
He thinking,
as he pushed along,
how red
her stump was
the night before,
how the thigh
of her other leg
was white as snow
compared,
going red
as he stared.
CHILDREN'S NURSING HOME IN 1950S.
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