“The Night After Surgery”
(A Visit from Nurse Badgett)
By Larry Stanfel
‘twas the night after surg’ry
And all down the floor
The nurses were dozing
Like poor, weary whores
The drip bag was hung
On the pump pole with flair
In hopes that the victim
Soon would be fair
The patients were stuffed
With no care in their beds
And weird, morphine nightmares
Tormented their heads
And my friend sprouting tubes
And I in a chaise
Snored and tossed fitfully
In a half-conscious daze
When out in the hall there arose such a clatter
I fell off my chair to the floor very battered
Away towards the doorway I groped like a shrew
Flung back the bed curtain and tripped on a shoe
The dim, glaucous light from the dismal, green hall
Lent accents of illness to the hospital pall
And what to my sleep-robbed eyes gave a shock
But an ugly old dame in a Mickey Mouse frock
Her cart was laden with hoses and gadgets
I knew in a trice this was Night Nurse Badgett
As loud as a dump truck she smashed through the door
Snapped on ev’ry light and announced with a roar
“Your BP, your O2, your temp and your pulse
I’ll suck out your data, dump your pee hat, of course
I’ll wake you completely, crash ice in your glass
Perhaps siphon blood or ram tubes up your ass”
As Panzer divisions plunge into a fight
Nurse Badgett poured in to ruin the night
So up to the bed the wretched hag flew
Her cart full of torture, computer screens, too
And then in a twinkling I heard in the whirl
‘cross the hall a sick patient’s beginning to hurl
As I swallowed my own puke and turned around
Towards the sick bed Nurse Badgett sprang with a bound
She was dressed like a bad dream, this late-shift dud
And her clothes were all spattered with urine and blood
Syringes and needles were stuffed in her slacks
And she looked like a case of walking anthrax
Her eyes, how they narrowed and gleamed like de Sade’s
Her fat hands longed to be clutching birch rods
Her mean little mouth, her tongue like a sword
And the hairs on her chin were as stiff as a board
A cigarette butt fell out of her pack
And her slow, inept fingers were stained with tobacc
She had a hog’s head and a varicose belly
That worked overtime at the hospital deli
She was sour and sadistic, an icon of sorts
Right at home, I was sure, among rigor morts
The malefic eyebrows, the sneer on her face
Gave relief I was just visiting the place
She snapped at the patient gave pain with her work
Spread massive discomfort then turned like a jerk
And sticking a finger straight up her nose
And giving a grin at the sick person’s woes
She barged to the door, gave her cart a loud rattle
And made an exit like a herd of mad cattle
But I heard her exclaim in accents quite dour
“Grab some sleep, you putz, I’ll be back in an hour.”
I can see quite a bit of mastery with the ancient forms!