i’d sleep on the white tile lobby floor
and pace until the time to visit starts.
the bright lights are on but i’m away…
how nervous a voice sounds on the phone.
you agree when you check in at the desk .
permission and trust in every move.
i’d be beside you when they’re done
but i’ll have to wait until i can call.
the blood kept you home while i was gone.
they left you a note when you woke up
«don’t be alarmed by wooden splints.»
there won’t be a need for you to call.
excuses for careless doctor errors.
acceptance by all past patients have
allowed for a cold disclaiming note.
the warning is there, no need to call.
