Was

The nurse returned with a razor.
I made a joke but
battle weary from Friday night drunks
my nurse glazed over.

I wasn’t drunk though.
I didn’t know what I was, but at least I --

was.

I was in danger, for sure.
But I was an imposter at death’s door.

Now, at the mercy of nurse,
the perfectly nice, petite, blonde nurse
with an accent and a blade,
about to shave my identity away
to suffer the indignity
of ten sticky pads
wired to an electrocardiogram.

The machine didn’t even beep -
not like the movies.
Fitting, I thought.
A thought I fought.

Nurse tutted at me. I’d live. Again.

But now, 2UP, was-me now is-me, could I live me?