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!