Home is Calling

Taken verbatim from my final English project
This poem was inspired by my husband’s job. He comes home every day with stories of his crazy patients and it makes me laugh. Despite liking his coworkers, he can’t stand his job anymore. The patients and the patient’s families are rude and obnoxious and apparently think that the staff is there to bow down and serve them. He went to school for computers and he can’t wait to get a new job in that field. He usually tries to make sure he gets one of the later breakfast and lunch times, because the earlier he goes, the longer the day seems to be. Every day that he works at around 3 or 4 pm, I inevitably get a text message from him. Every single day he tells me all he wants to do is come home.

x . x . x . x . x

Home is Calling

A patient calls out and
I rush to help him out. He
needs a shave. I sigh. These
people can’t seem to do
anything for themselves.
As I finish the shave, another
needs a bath. I
sponge and rinse and my
mind wanders away. I
wonder what my son is
doing at daycare. I wish
I could be with him. The
patient is happy, at least
for now. I have to take vitals.
The day is dragging. Lunch
was too early and I can’t leave
until much, much later.
I get a page and trudge back
to the hallway. It seems like
the crazies are all on my floor.
One patient has a certain problem,
but after years of snorting powders
what did she expect? Another
was ejected from his car and is
covered in road rash. It looks painful.
The hours drag and I go through
the motions. I just can’t
wait to go home.

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