Wednesday, February 20, 2019
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    Estimated reading time — 5 minutes

    One month ago, on a rain-slicked street

    My mother and I got a bite to eat

    But on the way back, I slipped and fell

    And I suppose the car coming didn’t see me well

    Because the next thing I knew, as I lifted my head

    I was staring at the sheets of a hospital bed!

    I could not move my legs, nor my right arm

    My left was okay (it escaped from harm)

    My mother came in, with a frown, and then

    Said “honey, I’m afraid you’ll never walk again.”

    A feeling came over me, not sadness or hate

    But instead overwhelming apathy took place

    “Oh well,” I thought, “I guess I’m done.

    My life is over before it’s even begun!”

    But the next day my mom approached me with a smile

    And said that, with luck, I’d only stay here a while

    And then, if feeling returned to my legs

    I could come back with her and start my life again

    Well, that filed me with hope; an optimism quite bright

    And perhaps my stay here would even be alright!

    The month passed by, rather pleasantly

    I’ll save you the details on how I went pee.

    Most of my actions needed the assistance of a nurse

    But really I was just glad to not be in a hearse

    A reporter came to my room to tell my story

    I think he was expecting something a little more gory

    The triplegia of a fourteen year-old kid

    Was something that, sadly, couldn’t be hid.

    My nurse was kindly, pretty and gentle

    She helped me get through that month without going mental

    She even gave me a book to read

    About shipwrecked sailors whose captain couldn’t lead

    I learned on that day that human tasted like pork

    The captain got eaten (but he was kind of a jerk.)

    The nurse was very good at helping me cope with my condition

    But when she was gone I sometimes felt a suspicion

    Something like I was being watched

    But I shooed that thought from my mind and instead stared at the clock

    One thing that bothered me was the sheet on my legs

    They hooked tubes up to me so that I never left the bed

    But I could not reach down for the sheet to be pulled

    So I could not see my legs, my once-useful tools

    At the end of this month, I’m supposed to go home

    But more often than not I’m simply left alone

    The female nurse does not come any more

    Instead, a crueler face comes through the door

    His face is all pudgy, he wears an apron

    That’s always filthy, and wrinkled like bacon

    He gives me my food, three times a day

    And he cooks all my food in all the same ways

    He grills it, whether it should be or not

    Grilled meat, grilled veggies, and here’s food for thought:

    He served me cereal once, and I swear to God

    He even grilled the cornflakes! How odd!

    Sometimes, while eating one of his grilled meals,

    He would stand in a corner and try to conceal

    The smile that spread across his whole fat face

    Before noticing my horror and running out of the place

    I told my mom to ask about this weird guy

    She said the hospital staff had this reply:

    “He’s both a nurse and a cook (one of the best)

    But while applying for the job, under ‘name’ he put ‘Chef’

    So everyone simply calls him by that name

    He may look threatening, but he’s really quite tame!”

    I tried to let that ease my fear

    But I started having awful nightmares

    His face appeared, looking like pudgy rubber

    And all the while he stared at my mother

    His eyes were planted firmly at her hips

    And all the while, he was licking his lips

    Thinking of Chef filled me with horror

    And when he came to serve me

    His meat became rawer

    It was still appetizing, but just barely

    And with every day he seemed more and more hairy

    My mom normally visits every day at noon

    She insists on seeing me in my hospital room

    She’s never late; she’s always on time

    She treats being late like a capital crime

    But today, for some reason, she’s a few minutes late

    If I ever did something like that she’d be irate!

    Chef comes in and serves me some meat

    I take a look at his disgusting bare-feet

    And eat the food, as there’s nothing else to try

    And when I realize the taste, I nearly die

    The food I was eating was clearly not pork

    Yet the taste was known as soon as it was through my fork

    I was eating something else; I knew it to be true

    I through the plate aside, and then my guts I spewed

    I vomited and vomited, and as I did I cried

    Was I eating my mother? Had she really died?

    “You killed my mom, and made me eat her, too!”

    I yelled with all the force I could bring myself to

    Chef looked at me, with an emotionless face

    My one good arm shot up with the intent to erase

    His expression, his presence, his existence on this earth

    But my fist just bounced off his impressive girth

    At that moment, my mother rushed into the room

    And said “what’s all the screaming? You sound like a loon!”

    I looked at my mother, there in the flesh

    And never felt more relieved as I got back my breath

    My mom was okay, I was overreacting!

    Staying in this bed all day had my sanity retracting!

    Everything was alright now that she was here!

    There was nothing to fret and nothing to fear!

    I gave my mom news in the usual way

    Chef left, but then returned midday

    When he did, I tried to apologize

    I said “I know what I did was awfully unwise;

    I really am sorry for freaking out

    But not moving from this bed’s made me a paranoid lout!”

    Chef grinned at me, with black gums and missing teeth

    Which then retracted like a sword in a sheath

    He walked over to the my legs that were covered by the sheet

    And scowled “I was hoping you’d enjoy my little treat”

    He pulled off the sheet, and my legs were gone!

    It was as if they’d been cut off by a saw!

    A bloody pool was where they once lay

    I yelled out in horror and tried to get away

    But he leaned over and grabbed my chest

    He leaned in so close I could smell his foul breath

    He said “All that meat on your legs was going to rot

    And I would never cook a woman in such poor health

    Besides, watching you eat your own mother is not

    Half as exciting as watching you eat yourself!”

    Credit To – Greg G.

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