But sometimes I MUST make an exception when I see something so good, so clever, that I want to share it and say LOOK AT THIS! IT'S FREAKING AWESOME!!!
And when I do that, I make sure I properly credit it.
Maybe it's because I'm a literature buff, and took too many of those classes in college. Edgar Allan Poe is featured in most of them, and his most famous work is The Raven.
So on reading other blogs today, I found this excellent post written by Maha. She's an ER nurse who writes Call Bells Make Me Nervous. Check her site out. And Maha, please forgive me, but I just had to share your remarkable piece of writing.
So, without further ado, I present Maha's satire on The Raven. It's called The Drunkard.
Had Edgar Allan Poe Been an Emergency Nurse…
Once upon a midnight dreary, while my back ached, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious patient at the triage door.
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone rudely rapping, rapping at my triage door.
"'Tis no drunkard," I muttered, "tapping at my triage door--
A well man and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember the bloody night before November,
And each and every staff member had brought a patient to the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow, vainly I had sought to borrow,
From my books of assessments thorough –to avoid the cookies from days of yore
And drink my latte from so long before.
But the stinkin’ sad uncertain shuffling of a drunkard’s gait that’s struggling
Thrilled me – filled me with supreme annoyance, never felt before.
So that now to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“Tis no drunkard entreating entrance at my triage door –
Some late UTI-er entreating entrance at my triage door;
This is it, give Toradol galore”.
Towards the patient I finally headed, hope for sleep completely shredded,
“What,” barked I, “please don’t have a complaint I’ll deplore,
But the fact is I was napping and so intently you were tapping,
And so rudely you came slurring, ranting at my triage door”.
And without regard or thinking, he barfed upon my triage door,
Chunky vomit and lots more.
Then, of course, the air grew denser, thanks to the obscene Spencer,
A man now pickled, whose foot-falls dragged in the department’s floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “why did God bring thee – by the devil he hath sent thee
Respite – respite and Valium please for thy abnormal CIWA score
Why, oh why this loud decree of your drunken presence on my door?!”
Screamed the drunkard, “I barfed some more”.
"Spencer!" said I, "this stench is evil!--Spencer this is the needle’s bevel,
Whether taxi sent, or whether ill-fate tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, in this department un-enchanted,
In this hallway by Horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore--
Is there--is there calm from Gravol?--tell me--tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the drunkard, "I need lots more."
"Spencer!" said I, “more upheavals? - Spencer still, if man or devil!
By the score of twenty and eleven – by the Valium we both adore –
Tell this nurse with sorrow laden, who to call? Perhaps thy maiden?
Please, oh please, I beg thee, use the bucket on the floor.”
Quoth the drunkard, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign of parting, man or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting.
"Get thee out of the department and save my night from being abhorred!
Leave no chunks of vomit as a token for my tolerance thou hast broken!
Leave here with this train token! – Quit the bed and leave the main floor!
Take thy stench as you depart, and take thy form from out the door!”
The drunkard started to loudly snore.
And the drunkard, unremitting, still is snoring, still is snoring
On the pallid stretcher mere inches from the door;
And his socks have all the seeming of a mold that is steaming
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my break retreating into shadows that was planned for four,
Shall be taken – nevermore!