And it befell on one mundane Monday morn
That trainee Hailey Meersheimer (rank M3)
Began her first shift in the psych ward; the pall
Was looming in the shadows, the walls were cold
And gray. After settling in, she was suddenly
Struck by an image of utter horror: a man who had
Been drugged and put in restraints was left drowning
And semi-conscious in the half-light, lifeless were
The glistening sands, faded was the once noble
Brow, shattered was the gentle mien upon that hour
Of unchecked pain, in tatters was the sacred mind;
The fathomless soul, a broken hourglass. And
Her new colleagues exchanged gossip, speaking
Of the weather and last night’s game,
While he who knew the suns of forty summers
Appeared as ancient as the moon, ancient
And ruthlessly cast down – cast down unto the
Depths of Hell; no light, no light from vacant eyes,
No light upon a tomb now calling. Whereupon
A nurse suddenly interrupted these dark
Ruminations, blurting out “You feel sorry
For that guy? He said that Covid is treatable.”