He said
calmly, professionally
without bamboozle;
You won't know a thing
until you recover in the
I C U - twenty four to
forty eight hours later.
They'll take the tube
out of your throat, the
one that kept you alive,
and make you cough.
Jesus, I thought - cough,
with my ribcage stapled?
He must have a sense of
diabloical humour - cough?
Problem is, he doesn't......
jerry hughes
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/anaesthetist-2/
