Kira Carrillo Corser © 1993
Maria Jesus Lopez waits. They wear on her, the hours, grind her like metal into her wheelchair She crosses her legs, tugs her skirt down, tries to hide her lost foot, says to Michael, her great-grandson, I miss my leg Her diabetes runs wild again like last year, the cut that wouldn't heal, a foot blister that festered, turned black, slipped slowly to gangrene Had she had her own doctor had she not, had she not delayed coming here, the long wait, she gets tired, she didn't know, the small sore, left untreated, might mean amputate |
Down the freeway, at a different hospital the man's cry -- Emergency -- spills like a siren down halls clogged with waiting, past patients growing in rows in their seats He's yelling Goddamn, give me something for my pain. Can't you give me something for my pain. It's like this each time he comes here, he's pacing, he's through waiting Today, his head shaved, his camouflage jacket hides a knife, three loaded guns, he paces the crowd, shoots down three doctors The patient pleads not guilty, one doctor is near death, another sells the movie rights The hospital, they add guard dogs, bulletproof screens, guards round the clock, they install metal detectors III. We're told this is not war - Frances Payne Adler © 1993 |