“Your kidney must be removed,”  my Doctor said

I looked at him carefully from my cranked up bed

I wanted to know why it had to go

My doctor told me it was turning into dough

What? I jumped out of bed with my printed gown on

I ran barefoot to the bus stop across the lawn

I got on the bus and there were three other people each wearing a gown

I said I didn’t know about them, but I thought the hospital should be run out of town

“Oh,” the one nearest to me said,

“You’ve met Dr. Metaphor, he’ll screw with your head

“You mean my kidney isn’t literally turning to dough.

So, it must be somehow like it though.”

I asked the people in gowns on the bus what they were doing

They said “We’ve been separated from body parts and soon we’ll be suing.”

One held up a foot, another an ear, and a third a finger

I thought it would be a good idea not to linger

But, before I ran back to my hospital bed, I had to ask:

Why the heck are you here on this bus–what’s your task?

In unison they said something I hated:

“Isn’t it time that you donated?”

The tall one pulled out a saw and the other two each had a knife

I ran from the bus like an Olympian track star, my terror saved my life