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The toothless and vacant, my eyes dare to see
Fading slowly in this splendid old folks ossuary.
The new social worker has come to call,
But soon loses his way down the hall:
Beds named B are pushed to the window
A is by the door he has learned to know.
Tablet in hand with company protocols to scan,
The callow fellow will be made into a new man.
Sons and granddaughters lovingly feed their loved ones
In the dining hall the pureed pork and warmed corn buns.
Tapping for the little lights, more time needed to meet POC;
Don’t meet with the leaving, but with the present family.
In these only two weeks do I witness my own end?
Haven’t time for that now, we’ve more consents to attend.
Glory to the nurses in their noblest battle with Pain
A social worker aspires to their heights to attain;
But first to learn our craft with increasing ease and facility:
To be useful to the sons and the granddaughters is all I dare to be.

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About Kitt

Sometimes a rhyme or couplet wanders across my consciousness. So, I share it. Other times I'm a hospice social worker; others, a Dad; others, southerner, New Orleanian, cajun enthusiast, voter, and on better days, a not-too-awful-poet/rhymster. Welcome to my page. Enjoy.

Posted on February 9, 2014, in Poem. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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