Friday, April 2, 2010

SBR and Blue Toes' Run of the Year - 2010

Waiting and Watching

Thin boy takes stairs two at a time.
Birkenstocky man ambles by ones.
Pretty girl texts as she struts.
Shorts with hairy legs is too cool
to be cold, this grey afternoon.

Gord’s in recovery, they’ve said
but I’m still in the coffee shop,
waiting to be beeped, summoned
to see the results of knee-bone
drilling and tendon macramé.

Round, reddish woman sips her tea,
hot pink phone pasted to her face.
Blonde butterfly girl ignores Daddy
and dances at the muffin stand
long as she dares, then chases him.

I’ve had five coffees so far today,
and it’s almost time for lunch.
Gord got up at four this morning
just to have one last cup before
we left the house to drive south.

Blue-smocked volunteers kibitz
with customers at the counter,
hawking rice crispy snacks, gum
and gooey goods “for patient care.”
Hard hat buffs the hallway floor.

Is this pager-thingy really on?
It’s past the expected call time
and I have to pee again, but
it won’t work in my pocket,
they’ve said, just hard surfaces.

Grandma grumbles about date squares.
A couple of pals complain about
the cost of parking and comment
on people they knew; now dead.
The cancer took ‘em, or the devil.

Finally, I’ve been buzzed, called
to recovery, where my dreamy-eyed
mate tries to be coherent and not
to groan too much when he moves.
Heavy-duty drugs round the edges.

Physio’s on lunch, says busy nurse,
so you (me) may as well eat now too.
Not him though; only clear liquids and
handfuls of pills, but no beer, dear,
and get him a hand-held urinal!

His knee’s a neoprene sausage roll.
There’s an X on his left foot,
marking the right one for surgery.
I’ll have to re-dress him, ever so
carefully, and haul him home.

But the pants won’t fit over that
sausage roll of a lame left leg.
So, he escapes like a Cuckoo
with Johnnie-shirt discreetly
draped about his drugged-up butt.

Hours later, we’re home before
he knows it; he’s been dozing.
He calls siblings to give reports.
They’re glad to know he’ll live
to ski another day, unhinged.

– Jennifer R. Cressman
April 1, 2010

The phsysio said to alternate heat and cold therapies. 
How about combining hot sun and cold beer?

What is YOUR Run of the Year?

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