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!