Uniforms
They all wear the same uniform so we know which team they’re on
There are no names or numbers to remind us
To treat them all the same
Every morning the soiled ones get washed
I retired my assigned jersey years ago
Now my white coat hangs in a hall of shame
When I come to work I just take
Whichever random one is hanging
In the doctor’s room lounge
Today I’m Dr Zanzibar, eminent gerontologist
The coat hangs down to my ankles
And the sleeves hide my hands
Now I’m on the wrong team
I adopt a weird posture so no one will know who I am
In the pockets are rings of keys and cookie crumbs
Each key opens a different door in the hospital
I make my rounds, check that every door is locked
One of the keys opens the linen closet
Where all the laundered gowns are stored
They smell so warm and clean
I remove the white coat and put one on
Now I’m nobody
It fits just fine
A nurse ties me up in the back
And escorts me back to my room
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