Hum-drumming the patient
patiently
respecting image quality
transducer in hand
the sonographer photographs.
The pager rings
not once but twice,
separated by thirty seconds.
“Trauma ETA 10 mins,”
it reads.
The pace of work expedites,
no time for beauty.
Around the corner and down the elevator,
chit-chatting with a coworker,
the sonographer
navigates hallways deftly
to arrive at the trauma bay.
Trauma doors open-
the pateint’s bare feet protrude from
under sheets on the gurney.
Pandemonium ensues.
Doctors, nurses, and techs juggle
IV lines, respirators, and orders.
“X-Ray abdomen”
Shoot.
“X-Ray pelvis”
Shoot.
“Ultrasound Ready”
Jelly, transducer, and gloves take
images ingrained from memory.
“Positive!”
Regardless of result,
the machinery exits while the patient remains,
in the care of the medical team.
Feet,
red and moving
smile
underneath the sheets
in the trauma bay.
The Bird's Song 