Rails and the Clank of. . .Metal?
 
You've been there.  You could not look,.
so you stared at the pole with the tube
snaking down and out.   Ceiling
next to fascinate.  Then you tried
counting tiles.  Sick of that, you fished
for jokes that you might not make hash
out of.   Oldie with a point neither sharp
nor blunt.  When he (/when she) appears
to notice you don't look, you look,
and wish you hadn't.  Pallor almost green.
Bent-necked straw looks fatter.  Say
something, you tell yourself.   Come up
with something, long as it is nothing.
Nothing that will aggravate the condition
MD's are so fond of.  Discomfort,
my eye.  Do.  Re-read the cards on the all.
Hearts, flowers, and basket case yuks.
Look the Look that kneels and prays
without looking like Death.   Stop.
More cards have been puttied behind
the bed.  Rag him (/rag her) about roses
the color of a penis that are salted
with the tears of a stone crocodile.  Joke
Who is X, f'cryin' out loud?  Need
another slug o' water?  Burger, fries?
Back in a jiff, you say.  Call on my cell.
Come back and straighten the mess
on that stand.  Plump the cornhusk-
covered pillow.  Cry inside. . .pray.

(c)  Phyllis Jean Green, 2006