.
Each day I return to the cold
metal table and the plastic
wrapped bundle that evades the hold
of laytex-wrapped fingers on a slick
of yellow fat.
A scalpel-bladed flick,
tensed pull with clamped hemostat
and the skin peels back.
We toss random chit-chat
over her body to distract
our minds
from the tactless acts
our hands commit as they wind
among the secret
recesses of flesh, the hidden opaline
nerves, and artery-bound rivulets.
I push a probe through ruddy sediment
pooled in the rib basin and attempt to forget
the obscene angle the leg is bent
as it disappears into the garbage pail.
If we were anything but medical students,
we'd be headed straight for jail.
A. Popp
1998
.