The surgery I had lasted three hours long.
My husband was cooped up in the waiting room,
Talking to a man with one leg and an eyepatch
Over his left eye.
He said he was here for his father’s open heart
Of which he had several.
He says every day the doctor tells him
He has twenty-four hours to live.
His family takes it as a joke, now.
The doctor’s used kitchen utensils, and stitches; they said
This later, when I was in the recovery room,
Eating jello and drinking ginger ale.
The nurse’s shoes sound like whispers on
The cold linoleum.
When I watched tv,
I had to cran my neck upward to see it.