Kevin Patrick Sullivan's poems "Camels" and "Surviving the 405 Long Beach Freeway and the Process to Cardiac Clearance"
Kevin Patrick Sullivan’s books include, First Sight, The Space Between Things , Unimpaired and a number of chapbooks. His poems are in Solo, Hummingbird, Askew, Lummox, Miramar, and Spillway among other journals and anthologies. He Co-Founded and ran Corners of the Mouth at Linnaea’s Café, a monthly of featured and open readings for 35 years, Co-editor of Corners of the Mouth A Celebration of Thirty Years at the Annual San Luis Obispo Poetry Festival. Poet Laureate Emeritus of San Luis Obispo and the Co-founder/Curator of the Annual San Luis Obispo Poetry Festival since 1984.
Camels
Three legs
Two humps
One pyramid shaped
And two flat heads
What a wicked sense of humor
One hump or two
The sand man has
You barely notice his red eyes
Guiding you through this desert
Of sleep this daydream
Of travel
*after the intaglio by Anne Jenkins
Surviving The 405 Long Beach Freeway And
The Process to Cardiac Clearance
I saw my primary doctor on Wednesday who set up an echocardiogram
with my new Cardiologist on Friday as I was scheduled for a melanoma
surgery on Tuesday and the anesthesiologist needed reassurance that I
would wake up.
I tell you right now after listening to my heart pump, the blood rushing
through the different chambers each one sounding a little different I knew
it was a go-go-go. My heart strong and in rhythm a quartet of valves working
the life force out to the edges.
Now this is where the process got stuck.
On Friday afternoon with my primary doctor’s office going home early—
slammed to a standstill hitting my brakes.
Getting a jump on the weekend they call me to tell me to cancel the surgery.
The flash of brake lights sliding all around us. The echocardiogram report
lays in a Fax machine inbox.
The slow motion slide comes to a stop.
On Monday we call the primary doctor’s office to find out she is on vacation.
There is no doctor in the office on Monday and that they will have the doctor
covering for her look at the report when she gets a chance.
So close, no more than a sheet of paper separating us from the car in front or behind.
Just a fax sheet away cost us a week . The surgery was performed on the following
Tuesday. I woke up, like I said go—go—go !
© 2022 Kevin Patrick Sullivan
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