More than once
it happens —
the outbreak —
a tittering "sorry"
at the particular mangling
of the name calling,
after some late arrival
rushes the front desk
half-clothed, making heads
and the registrar's brows
rise like orchestra players
paying homage
to the guest conductor
just as the papers shuffle
and time moves off
schedule and you want
so badly to think
that's just not funny.
The waiting does it
to the nerves
makes the pulse mock
the tension, the room's silence
imploding before a needle
uneasily jabbed
into tapped-on skin
finds its mark
and the hand releases
the fist and the mask
fitted not to bruise
sends oxygen on its way.
The face and the body
do it
together, involuntarily
under certain conditions,
not faked, so naturally
it's called the best
medicine no one gets
yet
making 15 muscles in the face
contract and your upper lip
to lift and you to gulp breaths
and water to pool in your ductwork
and your mouth to open and shut
like a set of teeth set loose
on Intake's counter, the security
window closed to the sight of looks
reddening, moist, the more air
fails to get in.
It's so quick
in the time you hear it
it's gone and disappeared
its punctuation effect
contagious, lighting up
the whole brain
every 210 milliseconds —
right hemisphere and left cortex,
the frontal lobe, sensory processing
in the occipital lobe, the motor
sections — and 30 times more likely
when you're not alone
and the joke's good enough
and the operation, the third already
that morning, is the success
you've sat listening for.
© 2010 Maureen E. Doallas. All Rights Reserved.
__________________________________________
I wrote this poem for the Tuesday, August 10, Blog Carnival sponsored by Bridget Chumbley at One Word at a Time.
The Blog Carnival is a biweekly online event open to anyone. Participants write on a one-word prompt or topic. This week's one word is "laughter".
At Bridget's place you'll find a list of links to all of the contributions, which are posted throughout Tuesday and often through to the end of the week.
The Blog Carnival's FaceBook page is here.
The prompt for the next Blog Carnival, on Tuesday, August 24, is "children".
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12 comments:
Would it be incredibly immature of me to admit that I was hoping there would be some reference to flatulence in that poem? Yes? Then I admit nothing.
Hospital poetry? A new frontier has been broken
once, when went i was going to an acupuncturist, it was on the second visit, i think, that she put the needle in a place in my back, that just made me laugh!
i thought it pretty strange, but, she assured me that it happens in that spot.
Somewhere I read that it takes many, many more muscles to frown than to smile. And smile is what I did when I read this.
I smiled too! And... yup... I was kind of thinking maybe possibly a little bit of 'fluff' would erupt!
So glad you didn't need potty humour to make this poem shine.
Honestly, everyone. I did not think "that" when I was writing this poem.
Just goes to show how different people interpret things.
This:
"imploding before a needle
uneasily jabbed
into tapped-on skin
finds its mark"
reminded me so vividly of all the times those gloved fingers tapped, and the needle jabbed but did NOT find its mark. They kept trying and trying, probing the needle when it was already in there, still unable to find that vein.
You say so many truths here, Maureen. Thank you again for your insights.
Loved the ending, especially (it sort of quiets down in a very compelling way).
What is it about waiting room poetry...I of course thought of:
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-waiting-room/
I felt the nervous elevator silence. Uncomfortable titter waiting to release the tension. I love words that make me feel 'there'-wherever that is. :)
"The waiting does it to the nerves"
Yes, yes and YES!
Love the poem, love the comments.
I learned... and smiled! Thanks, Maureen.
This is amazing, Maureen. Catching up on your poetry. I am lifted in the doing...
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