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JOHN'S POEM by John Scott
THE URINE SPECIMEN by Bruce Thompson
ANN'S MEDITATIONS by Ann Scott
It was the month of June
At the dark of the moon
When we first met our outfitter Glen;
For seven days and nights
We'd enjoy all the sights
Down the Missouri River with Hank and Him.
Alan was the youngest and
Jack was the oldest
And the rest of us were somewhere in between,
Although we ate real well, and
Wednesday's wind was hell
We came back from the trip fit and lean.
There were Jess and Jan and Jim, and
Paul and Fred the twins,
And John and Joan and Ann made up a few
Then Bob and Ella Mae, and
Bruce and Donna they say
With Arnold and Hank you've got a completed crew.
We followed in the step
That Lewis and Clark had left,
From Coal Banks down the river 103 miles;
We saw mountain sheep and deer
Mixed with wind and a little fear,
As we traded tales and shared our sun-kissed smiles.
Paul showed us how to catch
A snake with a sneaky snatch
Drawn through the crotch in order to grab his head,
Then hearing rattles left and right
Those little buzzes produced such fright
That caused us all to zip up tight for bed.
At night around the fires
We sang songs and told some lies,
As we got acquainted with our newfound friends
And when we all get home,
I'm sure soon again we'll roam
As our wander lust never seems to end.
John Scott, June 1999
THE URINE SPECIMEN
When infant's fevers come and go,
We find the need to bag the flow,
Of waters bearing the bugs that try,
So covertly their presence to hide.
The bag is placed with utmost care,
To keep out the bugs not already there.
Then we wait for the moment of truth when we'll see,
Those insidious critters adrift in the pee.
We wait and wait and wait some more,
But the sick little patient has evened the score,
With those whose bag now lies so free,
In a vain attempt to capture his pee.
"The gall", he thinks, "if from me they have planned,
To obtain a bag full of pee on command!
The tides of my bladder will never be sent,
To those who subject me to a rectal temp!"
So hour by hour we wait for the shower,
We'll examine quite carefully under high power.
But the fruits of our patience we find are denied,
By the kidneys whose fountain so suddenly dried.
So off comes the bag, still dry as a bone,
Forcing us doctors to send the kid home.
His obstinate plumbing with nary a leak,
Contributing not the E. Coli we seek.
But, alas! Is a ray of hope breaking the gloom?
Is a specimen arcing across the room?
Or is progress once again to be foiled,
And a white coat once again to be soiled?
NO, BY GOSH! Science will prevail,
And we'll capture that specimen in any pail,
Or similar contrivance that we can find,
For no infant outwits the medical mind!
Out come the ashtrays and sterile bedpans,
Tea cups and pee cups and doctors' bare hands,
Till a sample is garnered and sent down the hall,
And some in memoriam is left on the wall.
Yes, a memory to those who have given their all,
To capture the flow as it sailed toward the wall,
Or who waited their lives away hoping to see,
The bag conveniently filling with pee.
And the following lines should be left at that site,
Where frustrated doctors might work some late night:
"Samples are ordered by fools such as we,
But only God can bag a kid's pee."
BRUCE THOMPSON (copyright 1999 Bruce Thompson)
There must have been a vagabond
Whose wanders in my blood
Who used a stone as pillow
And called the road my home.
Who viewed the open sky
As an endless, empty plate
And drank in boundless beauty
With a hunger unabated.
Who finds a kindred spirit in
Eagles graceful soar
Lifted by the winds of life
Towards cosmos' open door.
There may be days with half a sigh
I look back with regret
But onward go, a world to know
And a friend I haven't met.
Bright & shining silver river
Flowing to thy destination
Onward came intrepid wanderers
Envisioning the greatest nation.
Sustenance of beauty, awesome courage
Inspired the ones who struggled here
Callow cold and brutal heat
Did not deter their mission clear.
We who follow in their footsteps
Marvel at their calming brave
Our mission now is to preserve it
It's wildness, precious, must be saved.
Ann Scott (copyright Ann Scott 1999)