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“Song of the Patient Patient” by Reed Whittemore 🇺🇸 (11 Sep 19196 Apr 2012)
My room overlooks the park.
The trees are like barbed wire.
My keepers are friendly but firm.
I am safe here.
Upright in bed mechanical,
Having bent to the temperature taker,
I await the tray lunch
Cooked by my maker.
My blood is in vats at the lab,
Also my urine.
My pills will appear at three.
X-ray wants me.
Am I deserving? No matter.
In shift serene I give thanks
For roses and mums
And respirator.
Let there be joy amid interns,
Let cashiers dance,
That I may further the work
And look at the park.