On the phone
-Mick Ramos
I say we should fly away.
To Paris … Rome … Tokyo … I hear they're
Beautiful this time of year. Or Oahu -- on a Thursday
Might be nice. We could try poi for the first time.
Spam is a delicacy there and you love it
(that's how I knew you were the one)
You'd wipe the sand from my face
With sunburned hands, the taste of the ocean
On your lips is something new
A song maybe, and I'd hum along
Leave Ohio and find me here miles away
And rescue me.
There are no seasons here -- no winter, no spring.
Summertime is the same and I see no autumn golds or reds
Because the sun refuses to light my path, too tired
To beat me to work and back
And the hospital is always 73.5 degrees Fahrenheit
The sky turns from black to slate-gray behind those panes of glass
That hold us in, that bind me to my dedication --
My education unbridled
My groundhog's day. Everyday
There are no Saturdays for us and the cat
To sip on slowly like fine wine
My groundhog's day. Everyday
The patients are the same
Teachers and takers of medicine
Only their souls are different
Some go home and others go Home
And sometimes I feel I should be so lucky.
To be here and to find you there, my home and my love.
Let's plan our escape, just you and me.
Past the double-doors beyond this sterile field
Bring me daylight -- one that doesn't buzz and flicker needing replacement
Bring me the cold and the hot, slate-gray skies and
All the beautiful colors of your skin
Come find me here and give me proof
The world is not flat,
9 stories tall with 25,000 beds
Let's go before it's too late
Just bring me back
Before Mr. Whitlow's chest X-ray comes back this afternoon.
|
|
