Monday, July 2, 2012

Stitched Up

 Towel with another selfless hero of African missionary work, my Littman stethoscope

Most towels get stitched but once, you know;
To make them what they are.
But I get stitched repeatedly;
A thousand pricks too far!
I'd rather mop a fevered brow 
Or rub an infant dry; 
Instead, I'm stitched and then unpicked 
So someone else can try.

Suture, suture holder, scissor - already prepped for teaching 

A universal open wound, 
A ghastly injury; 
While other towels are placed on shelves, 
Where I would like to be!

 Towel and Littman commiserating together

I spend my days pretending 
I'm a substitute for skin; 
And brace myself each time 
Another practice stitch goes in.

Okay, I have a purpose, 
Though I did not choose this role: 
What self respecting towel would choose 
To be a gaping hole? 

 Towel looking at map and deciding what other places he'd like to visit

Yes, those who master suturing 
Have gained a useful skill; 
But she who shaped my destiny 
Has yet to thank me, still.

Parisian style towel

"Thank you, dear Towel!"

Credit for this charming poem goes to Mrs. P, a friend of mine and encouragement in my own writings!