The Anaesthetic Wore Off

 

 

 

 

The anaesthetic wore off. There were twenty nurses in my room, all reading newspapers.

 

The anaesthetic wore off. My left leg had been removed and replaced by a Radio Flyer wagon.

 

The anaesthetic wore off. I heard a skittering sound, as of geckos running across Industrial Grade sandpaper on their way home.

 

The anaesthetic wore off. I heard two doctors arguing. “You’re his family doctor. You pull the plug!” “No, you were the surgeon. You pull it!”

 

The anaesthetic wore off. One of my eyes looked outward. The other looked inward. I saw nothing with that eye.

 

The anaesthetic wore off. My blanket was covered with bright packages containing chocolate bars.

 

The anaesthetic wore off. My little television set was tuned to the game between Baltimore and the Red Sox. But no one would mention the score.

 

The anaesthetic wore off. My old high school principal had found me. He was wearing only his grey BVDs.

 

The anaesthetic wore off. I continued reading David W. McFadden’s Be Calm, Honey, still unable to understand a word.

 

 

 

© George Bowering