Piles of neatly folded sheets

Contrast the haphazard toss of dressing

To a wound yet unmade

Landing heavy on the skin

Doused now in orange dye

Table moves in a jerking motion

Side to halting side

Raised and lowered

With the grace of a dancing mule

The body atop shifts and shudders

Awaiting the cold steel sharp

To be poked and maneuvered

Through skin, muscle and cartilage

And stab the nerve within

Deep and achy pain come swiftly

Wafting like an unwelcome wave

Muttering doctors offer little comfort

Like the cold metal table below

Hold your breath and tongue

The sharp will soon withdraw

But the ghost of it remains

Pain to kill the pain

The science of the absurd