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Tales from the Infected: Ode to the Vomit Bowl


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Oh stainless steel, you wash up prim

The thankless bowl whose job is so grim.

Being passed from family member to family member

At their time of need

At bedside or tableside, your armor shining so bright

To think what you do when we’ve got those chills in the night

Never a complaint, your stoic disposition

Doing your service when we’re out of commission

Many a face hath been seen in your reflection

Still you hold a place of dearest affection

You’ve been on duty for neigh near a week

Hardly a break betwixt the patients.

Thank the heavens for dishwashers

And their scrubbing agents.

Oh, bowl, shining, unwavering in your loyalty

Caring for us most in the times of our frailty.

Never again to mix a dinner or snack

Your service is noted, but in the cabinet, I’d like to put you back.

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