Hospital Observations Poem by Mike Smith

I'm sitting in a leather covered chair in the waiting area of the new registration desk at KSB. They just changed the registration area to this yore location esterday. Tuesday, the 11th. I took a number (49) and sat in the chair. The man in front of me grabbed both 47 and 48. He chuckled when he realized this. And offered me 48. I politely declined. He wears a neck brace.. He is now at the desk speaking softly to a large woman in white. The lady in red has a husband with a liver problem. She is quite concerned. She is frustrated... She's complaining. She's complaining about the amount of time it takes... Here I sit waiting on her to quit talking so that 49 can be called.
She was a nurse before. She said so. She was in charge of 40 people. The other lady in red, behind the desk, is trying to coax her into client patient grievances. Andrea is the name of the lady who the complaining lady will now go talk to. The red lady behind the desk is on the phone searching for Andrea.. It's my turn to step up
False alarm. She's back on the phone again. I don't want to interrupt her. The complaining lady was pretty distressed.
Jori in registration is the name of the red lady behind the desk.
She said the name of the patient with the liver problem but I missed it
49 is called by the large woman in white.. Or was, I should say instead. Because it is past tense. Now I am in the outpatient testing waiting area in a blue chair.
Peter, number 50 sets diagonally from me. And in comes 47 and 48. He has a Green Bay packers hat... No wonder he needs the neck brace.
Peter is the one who draws my curiosity. He reads the newspaper with his glasses off. He said back at the registration desk that he'd never been here before. He has an appointment for 1 but he doesn't even know who with... Or at least he didn't. He may by now.
A veteran of sorts sits to my left. Reading. The lady behind the desk seems like she's tired of being here.... I can relate. But for now, this is where I belong. So I'll try, best I can, to wait patiently for my name to be called.
The television is on. The program doesn't interest me.... Typical daytime television. Interviews with sub par actors in front of a live audience.
In steps a dark skinned woman wearing a smile and curly hair. She is friends with the woman behind the desk. They share pleasantries until it's time to talk business. They are both very busy.
The Flash just stepped in. His shirt holds a lightning bolt. His mom is with him.
Jerry is number 48. He was just called out of here by a man wearing green.
A lady in white called my name and took two pieces of paper from me.
It's 12: 41. Peter's appointment is at 1. I wonder if he will get taken into another room before I do. My money says that he won't. I was 49, and he's 50. He's not 50 years old though. That was his waiting number. His birthdate (I heard him recite it to the lady in red behind the desk) ended in 56. He's 61.
I'm thirsty. Have been ever since I got in my truck all the way back in polo.
The flash speaks loudly. His mother does too. She's hard of hearing. She wears an aid behind her right ear. Her braided ponytail almost hides a tattoo of a butterfly
I'm now walking back to my truck.
It's sprinkling a bit.
Erin is the lady in white who took my blood. It went quickly. She was pleasant and honest. Before I knew it she said I could go. She kept both of my papers and two viles of my blood as well...
She can have them. I'll make more blood. And paper is cheap.
The gauze and tape on my left arm is a bit annoying, and the rain on my trucks top makes me have to pee. What I need to do is get back to polo. But these moments get lost forever if you don't write them down. I don't want to lose them. I'm in a sense of clarity. Awareness. Empowerment. Epiphany almost.
My arm hurts a bit. The truck is running now. The music is distracting.
I'll go to polo, shower, change and then I think I'm off to Oregon unless the rain breaks. If it does I'll go back to work. If it doesn't I'd be happier.