The White Ship (4) Poem by David McLansky
The White Ship (4)
(4) Hospital Whites
They stab with needles,
Insert with tubes,
They probe with fingers,
Latexted and crude;
Oh, they never fail
To draw the curtain,
Their privacy assured
And certain.
But the drape is short,
I watch their feet,
Their shoes are scuffed,
Their leggings neat.
Here comes the nurse
To change her Foley;
He touches her
In places Holy.
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4/26/2024 5:35:25 AM # 1.0.0.1119
