From a hospital bed
the world is extremely white
and the nurses all smile
mostly I just listen to music
and wish away the pain above my eyes
once a day the doctor puts in an appearance
The doctor doesn’t think much of my appearance
lying inert there in that bed
wet washcloth draped across my eyes
like all hospital linen, it’s starched white
and they’ve taken away my soothing music
so I can hear him diagnose me and then smile
As he’s leaving I muster a fake smile
just for the sake of a grateful appearance
before burying myself in music
because the IV’s got me tethered to this bed
so I’m stuck amid this sea of white
I peel the rag away from my eyes
but no rest from the monotony for these weary eyes
so I just look at the ceiling and halfway smile
even though it’s the same terrible white
the same white that’s crept into my own appearance
since before I was consigned to this bed
I roll over and change the music
the only variety I get is through that music
Dido’s "I hope that you see this heart behind my tired eyes"
Sheryl Crow’s "Bring you comics in bed"
Semisonic’s "Nobody knows it, but you’ve got a secret smile"
my improved mood manifests itself in my appearance
as my complexion starts drifting away from white
the sheets and walls, however, remain white
and my IV beeps, making its own insistent music
so the nurse makes an unscheduled appearance
I watch her shut it up through half-closed eyes
when she leaves she offers me an apologetic smile
we know I’ll sleep poorly in this bed
and I return the smile, but not with my eyes
providing only the appearance of tolerating this bed
and my IV’s music among the hateful white
Back to Stuff I Wrote.
© Cynthia 2002.