The Nurse

Sometimes it’s better not to know.
But you know,
you think,
or you suspect
you’re caring for this patient
better than he ever cared for himself.
He never cared;
Daily he made war
killing himself.
You know it; you see it.
But you don’t know;
You don’t think;
You don’t let yourself think;
And you care for him
Not for the money
Nor the job.
He’s a human being
And you’re a human being.

Lavabo me -- A Chaplain's Prayer

Water from the side of Christ, wash me.
First check the counter-top for that clear film of water
That stains your pants and makes you look silly,
then lean forward, right foot on the pedal,
hands under the flood and begin with a preliminary rinse.
It used to be fun to play in water.
Lord wash away my iniquity,
and cleanse me of my sins.
Then push the lever that squirts soap somewhere,
on the wall, on the counter,
on your outstretched hand
-- and scrub --
for no less than fifteen seconds.
Palms smack broken suctions;
fingers knock joints,
slippery skin slides over
dry knuckles that enjoy for a moment
the oil of ease.
The right hand squeezes left
palm, thumb, and fingers;
left caressing in return.
Lord wash away my iniquity....
Don’t forget your wrists,
Then repeat several times
in oily soap kneading the fleshy palms
and bony fingers
And cleanse me of my sins.
Now rinse again;
(this is the fun part)
forming your hands
into a toilet bowl to catch the water
and flush several times,
over the fingers, palm, back-palm, and wrists.
Throw the excess into the sink,
try not to make a mess.
Lord wash away my iniquity....
Pull the first towel
which disintegrates leaving
but a scrap of paper;
then take one, two, three sheets,
spread each one out,
and wipe your hands,
the palms, the fingers, the sides of your hands.
Water from the side of Christ, wash me.
Look up for a moment,
and notice the passing scene.
A bed trundles down the hall,
-- stand aside --
with its retinue of nurses and assistants.
And cleanse me of my sins.
Offer a silent thought for the miserable.
Listen to the doctors;
You might learn something.
Admire the young professionals.
Lord, wash away my iniquity,
They are so beautiful.
And cleanse me of my sins.
Nod to anyone who looks your way.
The paper shreds,
and rolls into a ball.
Wipe down the counter,
Mashing it flat again,
And drop it in the trash,
Not the floor,
(with any luck at all.)
At last, the gloves.
Find a pair that fits,
extra-large.
Pull them on
and push the latex skin
down between each finger.
And don’t touch anything
-- unless its clean--
until you bless your patient.
From the side of Christ,
water,
my iniquity, wash away;
and cleanse me of my sins,
O Lord.