To The O.R. Poem by Robert Edgar Burns

The lightbulb of genius never seems to stop.
It never burns out, and it can't be turned off.
It's also very tiring if it's plugged into your heart.
In your brain each second, if you stop it wants to start!

I'm going to the O.R.
To get this monkey off my back,
It's given me quite a present.
It's called words, and there's no lack.

Maybe when the surgery's over,
Some day again I'll laugh.
But please tell no jokes around me,
The pain makes me want to crack.

My surgeon has that special look,
Of a mad scientist, but that's o.k.
Since he knows what he is doing,
Then relief is on it's way.

The things I haven't done for a while,
I'll soon be doing again.
Like dusting and moving furniture.
Why have this surgery then?

O.K. they could not work on me,
For I have seven heart stents,
And also gangrene in a toe,
So I'm in an oxygen tent.

Don't ever ask what could go wrong?
For it surely will come to pass.
Watch out here comes that funny mask
And it's filled with laughing gas!