Homer Stryker Circo-Lectric Bed Courtesy UW-Madison 

Fortunately, I didn't have to be in one of those or an iron lung at the University of Wisconsin Hospital for three weeks in the summer of 1964.

Turn Me

Turn me every half hour,

like an egg over easy.

I need to open like a flower,

not the one to be queasy.

Turn me into a tyrant,

if you angrily so desire,

although I didn't rant,

to create that kind of ire.

Turn me like the seasons,

returning faithfully every year,

while as I age for reasons,

please update my gear.

Turn me into a saint,

for all the good deeds I do.

Giving freely of what I ain't,

for it could be me or you.

Turn me in to the devil,

for the devilish things I pull.

Hammering on his anvil,

making life better and full.

Turn me into a butterfly,

emerging from my room.

Where I watch the world go by,

on TV, the Internet and Zoom.

And most of all.

Turn me on to ultimate thrill,

while you dance and sing your song.

What can be had without a pill,

before my time to enjoy is gone.

Copyright 2023 © Ronald W. Hull

1/18/23

You can read and print this poem my website here.