gut feel

   
I’ve never been under the knife before    
had my share of bone-breaks and all the rest    
but never laid my life in the hands of strangers    
to be opened up    
   
then last week my guts got ideas of mutiny    
and went septic on me    
   
I tried to walk it off    
tried to vomit it away    
tried to shit it out    
knew when I couldn’t even push enough to lay one    
that it was probably time    
to call in the pros    
   
packed a bag    
toothbrush/phone/books    
drove myself to the hospital    
but didn’t make it    
   
started tripping from the electric knives inside me    
had to get off the road    
pulled over    
shuffle-walked into a gas station    
vampire-grey      
2am in the morning    
said “mate, any chance you can call an ambulance?”    
sat down    
didn’t get on my feet again    
for a week    
   
went in through the big swinging doors of the emergency room    
strapped down    
the lights as bright as a workshop    
‘stay away from the light’ they say    
didn’t have the gas for a smile about that;    
too busy removing my mind    
from my body    
   
couldn’t help sizing up every nurse every doctor every floor-sweeper    
alert for fools and the lazy    
can’t be too careful;    
people die in hospitals    
   
liked my surgeon    
him not a talker    
came in looked me over like meat    
had his team around him taking notes    
talking in their filthy code    
could see them waiting for him to speak    
his opinion wanted    
I figured that was good enough    
since I was out of time    
for conducting interviews    
   
nurse asked me for next-of-kin    
did what I always do;    
fake name fake number    
none of your business why    
   
then down another long corridor    
my eyes drifting over all the bright white ceilings    
seen that plenty in movies    
get it now;    
a kind of road    
   
someone wheeled me to the anaesthetist    
he said ‘howdy’    
I groaned something like the same    
he asked me what I weighed    
asked for any allergies    
then put me out clean    
   
came too after    
on the ward    
two geezers in there with me    
both post-op drugged to quiet    
snoring deep as ferries lost in fog    
   
looked around the room    
felt the pain-drugs washing around in my head    
and my stomach as tight as a balloon    
told myself the truth;    
that’s gonna hurt son    
   
thought about it a while;    
what life gets down to in hospitals    
the helplessness    
the namelessness    
the ugly truths nobody needs    
like an old man begging mercy    
while some junior doctor starts attempt number three    
at getting a catheter    
up ‘im    
   
nobody wants to hear old men cry    
   
thought too    
about my mate    
who took a year of all of it    
then lost the dance anyway    
   
if he’d known how it was going to play out    
he wouldn’t have played it out    
that way    
   
I ended up just staring at the ceiling again    
riding the morphine    
promising swearing declaring    
mumbling chanting    
that when the day comes    
and some white-coat cunt    
says the word ‘cancer’ to me    
over a fancy wooden desk    
there is no fucking way    
I’m signing up    
or checking in    
to ride it    
in a hospital shithole    
   
fell asleep smiling    
for being back to talking brave    
which is pretty fucking easy    
as long as end-dates    
are uncertain