A Handful of Words: An Anthology of Original Poetry

The Surgery

Under blinding fluorescent lights,

Little Anesthesia wins all fights,

For language returns to jargon,

Just because of a soft-spoken bargain,

Barely recited by a woman in white,

Whose voice proves merely an echo through the busy hall of plight,

Hell, I do not care

Cease this aching, stop this despair

Dire need of an incision,

Is this man of precision.