NaWUPoBo, #25
On Friday I quibbled with a dear co-worker. It is easy to write these words up into poetry but much, more harder tomorrow to go in and apologize for my hot temper. Being mind-bogglingly exhausted combined with unending tension of residents attempting to walk to the bathroom unaided with a broken hip or escape outside through the fire door in the middle of a snow storm makes little outrages seem mammoth. Imagine, me taking responsibility for being human.
I am sorry, Cheri, for my cold shoulder on Friday. You deserve better, my friend.
A short temper is not on my side, this
poison tongue of mine mollycoddles no
one. I fight with a co-worker, dismiss
all this goodwill, at some slight I bellow
with rage. You say, "ah, temper!" I say, "see
the world fall down upon my thin shoulders?
What a drag I cannot be manically
smiling all the time." My three co-workers
are what make this a success; four nurse aides
for three dozen beds. Then unbearable,
two of us snit, we spit, spat. Call lights ring,
alarms cry. Someone screams. Nothing persuades
us to move. Tomorrow I'll be restful,
ashamed. Today I am worn out, snarling.