Work Poem by Dianne Borsenik

The surgeon swears,
and makes every moment
poison
for those who squirm
and sweat beneath his
bitter stare,
who cannot go away
when the job growls
hard and mean.

He uses this ugly
language like the steel
knife in his hand
on the woman
next to him,
a prisoner wanting
to please him.

She wants to work
with him,
for together
they can heal
sadness, aches, and
broken bones;
so, she lets
the word-blows fall.

And then, he changes,
and speaks of fluff
and honey...
she remembers
how she felt
a moment ago,
but she knows to smile.

He will never say
'I'm sorry'...