In the great beige room
There was a bedside phone
A get-well balloon
A sixth-floor view of ã

Rain clouds and a waxing new moon

And my sweet doped-up wife
Who went under the knife
And her new bandaged knee
And a hanging IV
And a long plastic hose
Sending air up her nose
And a machine they apply
From her foot to her thigh

And a friendly gay nurse whispering “Hi.”

Goodnight room
Goodnight moon
Good night wishes to get well soon

Good night anesthesia and femoral block
Good night knee replacements that help people walk
Good night morphine drip
And goodnight pulse-ox clip
Goodnight blood pressure cuff
And more medical stuff
Good night drainage lines
And the nurse who comes in to take vital signs

Good night big clock
And nubby-soled sock
Goodnight gown tied in back
Barely covering the crack

Good night hospital bed
With trapeze overhead
To lift yourself up, as the CNA said

Good night food on a tray
They bring three times a day

Good night steri-strips and invisible stitches
Dressings, ice wraps, unreachable itches
Good night to the surgeon who says all went well
Goodnight to this room, almost like a hotel
Good night to myself on the small extra bed
Good night pillow from home where I lay down my head

Goodnight worry
Goodnight sky
And goodnight friendly gay nurse whispering “Hi.”

Goodnight moon
Goodnight stale air
Good night beeping noises everywhere

Award-winning writer Sally Sheklow has been perfecting her bedside manner in Eugene since 1972.