We gather today
for a teachable moment:
a bedside skill rehearsal,
the "cold calorics"
a demon-ic-strated tool
for a final decision.
One could never sense
the pain and suffering
that would be cast over
this moment:
the making of another
diagnosis.
Holding back your lids
I watch intently
as the cold slurry
is sent awash
deep into the canal
an attempt to tickle
the most basic of
human
reflexes-spinal-carnal.
And in a moment,
I see the students,
in pairs:
the one's intent on the
'skill'
watching the master
hoping for an ounce of "see one" -
and the others
disgusted
at another therapeutic maneuver
of human indignity.
My mind
now tormented
sitting idle,
for all I can see
are your pupils,
fixed and dilated
staring towards the heavens,
reaching forth beyond words
screaming for a somber
release
from the captivity
of a broken body.
My horror
now magnified
as we "elicit"
the necessary stimulation,
to define
death
as it howls
in banal clarity.
