So dinner did not go so well,
’cause I forgot you’re allergic
to the redness of tomatoes.

The emergency room
is not very romantic. I’m

Oh God, I
don’t know
what to do.

They hooked you up
to a heart monitor, and

really you must believe
I’m not trying to kill you, but

I was staring at the graph, and
you asked me how it looked.

I said, “it looks normal
don’t worry.” — I’ve
seen those heart graphs,
and it was beautiful, but

you reached for a hug, and
I leaned into your bed.

You hugged me so tight, and
I kissed you.

I looked up at the monitor, and
the pulse rate was off the charts
and God only knows the
blood pressure graph didn’t look right.

I cried silently with tears, and
I said I should go.

I had been waiting all night
for them to treat all the
stab wounds of the gang fight, but

I can’t stand that you
are so low on the triage scale

but the nurses are so glad
that at last I leave the
emergency room, because

when you hugged me
the graph went wild, and

they are afraid I will too.

— Douglas Gilbert