The devil laughed
The angels swooned
'cause even BOTH nurses
couldn't tame the damn wound.
The trouble was with
Judith's nausea
Which to the dressing
was a troublesome causia.
We ran out of dressings
A panic ensued
Because it was Sunday
we knew we were screwed.
At the same time Obama
is eying Afghanistan,
Wes calls the pharmacy
hoping for a plan-is-STAN.
Our guests are still here,
that's Dorian and Lizzie,
They've witnessed first hand
what creates such a tizzy.
But what was the problem?
What created this mess?
A midwest snowstorm
put UPS to the test.
No supplies for the wound.
The situation got hyper.
We searched for an answer.
We can't use a diaper. . .
Did I worry? Did I sweat?
Did I panic? Did I fuss?
This wasn't the first time
I've seen blood and puss.
All the night I DID worry
The hallways to roam.
The final solution,
was writing this poem.
WES (aka the poor man's nurse/poet)
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