First Aid (From A Modern Day Florence Nightingale) Poem by Susan Lacovara

I wish there was a state-of-the-art hospital
All sterile and overstaffed
Surgeons with stethoscope ears
To hear the pulse of the troubled poets

A M*A*S*H tent, full of stretchered sentences
Giving proper attention to the wounds
That whisper as they bleed out
Hope turning gangrene

An erected Red Cross shelter
Providing provisions to those
Tossed and caught up in the wake
Of water rising too high, too fast

A battlefield medic with medals of valor
Applying pressure to save the ink of the fallen poet
Syringes filled with sweet sonnets
Sedating their pain, bullet ridden burdens

And a metaphorical Medicine Man
Chanting to chase the evil from their thoughts
Burning sage to cleanse their souls
Peyote PEACE calm their senses

Maybe just a poolside first aid station
Pulling them from the deep end
Pumping New life into their lungs
Expelling the salt from their tears

I shall take to carrying extra band-aids
In my pockets, just in case I come across
the skinned knees of a quiet writer
Who bleeds by their own hand