Emergency Room

I shook my knee, dipped my waist,

And convulsed down to the waiting room floor.

My love, I’m so glad I’m back; I almost died today—

In the worst kind of way. It was so dark.

I shook my knee, dipped my waist,

And convulsed down to the waiting room floor.

I was moaning, really chumping at my bones.

Ready to go.

So they sent me back to nurse Pork Chops—the last stop

At the biggest pinkest thing I’d ever, ever—I’m sure

You and I woulda had a couple,

But I was my feeling my lightheadedest, shivering.

You should have seen; I could have hardly joked if I wanted,

I was so dumbfounded. If you'd been there, you’d see.

Then Nurse Chops asks if I’d like, like, to sit down—

And would I? I cocked back to the gristly old sass.

“Like?" I said. "Like to sit down? Are you mad?”

Her blank face drew over the notebook papers

Fanning about the gravity of her waist.

“I’m dying of a heart...” I continued. “It’s obvious—

And put that stethoscope away. What

Do they teach you over there these days? What a shame,

What a shame, what a shame."

But by her face she wasn’t

A bit concerned,

And instead quite a bit glad to have me talking.

For I noticed at that moment that my tunnel’s flame

Had regained its wick—to her credit—for in that dire moment

She had me a bit distracted from all the hands

Of outstretched ancestral limbs, you know.

And I surely expressed by the look on my face

That if I were to collapse, it would be the last time,

The last moment, the last single breath I’d utter on this planet!

And so I sat and made a mental note to donate

A dollar, or some other meaningfully small amount,

To science—point made to Pork Chop and all the other white coats.

May I have a seat?

Yes, you fat oaf. You’d ask the blind if it was raining.

She smiled as

I settled into the seat.

“Don’t be a bad mutt now!” I squawked.

“Just write that on down. This is dying we’re doing here.

No need to gawk

With everyone else around.”

“There’s no one,” she replied,

And apart from some bored seniors, she was right.

And I knew you weren’t with me, because, of course, you couldn’t be,

But that didn’t explain—

“I’m dying!” I squealed

“Relax,” she said

In a soapy soothing kind of way,

“You’re a little excited, but you're going to be

One hundred percent.”

“So," I said,

"There was nothing

You could do for my daddy,

And now there's nothing

You can do for me.”

Then she was looking sad,

And I was feeling much better.

I saw her at a bar one night, dressed in normal pink clothes

And she told me

I was one hundred percent.

I rolled her home, and

She told me 
I was one hundred percent.