Saturday, April 19, 2014

Calling the Poison Control Center

isn't nearly as scary as I guess I had assumed it would be.

After an accidental gulp of some gargled 
Hydrogen peroxide,
My wife said 
I would be fine,
But I called anyway,
Just to be sure,
Because that's what it said to do
On the bottle.

It rang a few times longer
Than what seemed right
For an emergency number,

And then it sounded like the
... what would you call her...
Emergency receptionist
Just woke up
Either from a nap at her cubicle
Or from her bed as her telecommuted day began
A bit earlier than she expected.

Her tone wasn't exactly what I would call
But I suppose that could be because
She gets more calls
From people like me
Than from people with actual emergencies,
(The ratio of which
Would definitely be
An interesting avenue of investigation).

I certainly felt comforted after she told me
I'd probably have no problems
(At which my wife exulted)
And would, at worst, vomit,
Which I didn't.

If only there were such a number to call
And such a kind voice to come to my aid,
And if only it were socially acceptable,
Perhaps even a societal expectation,
(much like calling any emergency number is)
To dial up a complete stranger
And chat about any of life's mishaps or tragedies
In order to know what to do.

Family and friends are nice
For listening and advice, of course,
But wouldn't an unknown & unattached
Be much more legitimate, knowledgable, and trustworthy
to our minds, for whatever reason? 

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