Estimated reading time — 4 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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