Bert Almon

Poetry

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The Muse In The Surgical Theatre

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My muse watches with the transplant team

as they wait for the exuberant moment

when the first golden drop of urine

forms at the end of the cut ureter

of the newly-grafted kidney

 

Then she smiles behind her mask

remembering the day that Pegasus

dug his moon-shaped hoof

into the slope of Mount Helicon

and the first drops of water

formed in the Hippocrene Spring

 

My muse doesn’t flinch or turn away

as she contemplates a drop of urine

so absolutely pure

that it falls without harm

into the body cavity of the patient

Now the surgeon can finish the work

that looked so much like violence.

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