the emergency room

at the mission in the Bowery
when the addict comes in at night
they are ushered through electronic doors that
slam shut like a prison
echoing down the hall &
with few people on staff
they make their rounds in the greater part of the shelter
with walkie-talkies hooked to them
but no weapons or defense tools of any kind
which might allow for those spending their evenings
cleaning the laundry of the homeless &
taking care to the best of their ability
of those that the rest of society has left to die
in the garbage bin that is the piss ridden street---
in the emergency room
where those that walk straight off the street are allowed to
keep shelter,
but only shelter,
they need not even give their names &
they are not hassled by the help---
they remain huddled together
nodding off in a stupor
with the staff checking on this specific room
every 15 minutes
with the hope that no one has drifted off to an overdose---
those with the walkies also have a needle on them at all times
which contains a good dose of adrenaline &
after gratuitous exercises upon being hired,
of shoving the needle into a ripe orange
over & over
(as if this is supposed to prepare you for shoving it in a human being
who has just overdosed),
they are told to be on the ready
for such a moment to arise
when they will need to use it---
upon entering the emergency room,
those who have come in off the streets often,
having no respect for those with jobs & lives that
they can no longer even imagine, or perhaps from a greater disdain for
society as a whole,
they often ridicule the help,
cursing at them,
maybe not even conscious that they are doing so &
it is all in a night’s work to ignore or tolerate these insults
to the best of one’s ability
in hope that they are not struck or physically attacked
because an adrenaline needle & a walkie-talkie
isn’t going to stop someone who has nothing left in the world but
rage.