Security Guard
by James Wackett

    It was my first night at
    the hospital. This body,
    covered with white--an auto
    accident--laid on a cart,
    pressed against one wall,
    a yellow bucket on the floor
    below. What was once inside
    was now outside: a dark
    red cauliflower, bruised black
    in patches, some gravel
    mixed in. "He went, head-
    first, through the windshield."
    I stood, staring, entranced
    by the recognition, heard
    somebody ask: "Can you
    handle this?" Secure
    on the outside, I answered
    yes, wheeled body and bucket
    down to the morgue. Inside,
    I was flying, hearing
    bones and glass crack, a
    darkening thought saying:
    take me back, take me back.






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