Raisin Bran Man

Sir Quilliam the African Pygmy hedgehog

is a bizarre little animal.

Who would buy a pet that can't survive

in a sub-seventies environment?

i run and run and run and run

i jump off my wheel to see if

there is food where i now am

Shrieking!  Cold Water!  How?  Shower!

Showering in my clothes,

senses overloaded, pain shifting around my torso.

OW  OW  OW  OW  OW

My hands have melted.

the man was fixing my heating tower

with boiling water and tupperware

where did he go?

where is my raisin bran?

A fireman undresses me, his solid arm supporting my good shoulder.

I walk to the ambulance in a sheet, snow and ice outside.

The medic hits me with morphine.

OW OW OW OW OW

My hands have melted.

He hits me again, and yet again.

Weird.

Patients in emergency look scared when they see me.

Why is mom here?  Who called my sister-in-law?

"Sorry.  No visitors in here!"

I was brought by a silent platoon of nurses in white

to the stainless table.

Time to wash.

"Do you want us to stop?"

No.  Do what you are going to do.

"Do you want to stop now?"

No.  No.  No.  Do it all now.

Stainless scissors on raw flesh, cutting away the wasted layers.

Another hit of morphine while I puke into a tub.

                        We wash.

                        It isn't ok.

                        We wash.

I lay placidly in my hospital bed, wrapped from waist to neck, including my best arm.

Slowly, I feel myself dropping off to sleep as nurse Kurt settles me in.

As I slip away I think about Sir Quilliam,

the African Pygmy hedgehog, and I remember

how his little claws clung to the bars of his cage

as he waited for the Raisin Bran man to come.