Christina A. Sharik

THE THORN IN HIS SIDE

It was only a sting
a sensation of strange quick pain
an odd thing –
He could not speak
He could not cry out for help
He could not yell
Oh, bloody hell –
He tried to wave his shattered arm
then the Doc was there… He thought:
I can relax now; I’m in his care.
He put a butt
between my lips
He’s looking over my body for other
wounds – I know there aren’t any
He searches for wounds, and does something
to my throat
It doesn’t matter now, I begin to float

He says: Don’t go; hold on,
the chopper’s coming………
Hmmm hmmmm hmmmmm ummmm
My mother’s humming
in the kitchen, the way she used to do.
What care I for choppers when I can
have beef stew –

and then I see some dappled sun
through the canopies
why did I never notice the
beauty of the trees?

I’m drifting now; I’m becoming unaware
of all the activity around me………
The last I see is the medic’s face,
so tired, his eyes, his face is dirty;
he carries all the worry of the world
I feel sorry for the medic
for, unlike me,
he never will be completely free
and now everything is getting dim
I’m only half-aware of him…
Oh, God, I’m going home.
It’s been so long,
Mom.

Author’s Note: For the Medics, Nurses, Doctors, and medical personnel (using “he” in sense of all mankind)