Patient

Time of death?

The question slices through stillness and silence
More like an indictment than a perfunctory obligation.

Nurse and doctor glare at each other across the table
Unwilling to speak, to have it recorded, to own it.

They had both done their best, did what they could
Tried to care for me the best way they knew how.

But yet here I am.

And somewhere, between the medical malpractice
Mainly marked by neglect and indifference of the doctor

And the death of a thousand cuts from a well-meaning and
Yet reckless nurse, wielding a scalpel she could not control

I lay on the hospital bed attempting to endure what feels
Like a fate worse than death. Just wishing, I no longer had to be

Patient.