Day nine

Begin with 'the thing' I tell myself.

It is morning on the ward
and doctors sweep in like the tide
incoming to the end of your bed
or your hand
or under the covers.

One woman will have a blood transfusion today.
Another will put her foot to the ground
weigh the cast, try out the green crutches.
The third will have her hair washed
the bed steered like a 747
to berth at the sink at the end of the room.

I am so sick of being touched.