Healing the Wound

The Good Doctor Muses,Will You be bound?And I Remember,Surgeons ask and tapmy swollen shin and splinter the skin to leechout the infection. The leather straps snapin calloused hands while others reachinto cowhide and pigskin bags. Their fingerspull out glass whisky jars and worn scalpels.They place them lovingly on the pine dresser,line the bright metal tools on the woolthe blanket mother spread to protect the wood.When the surgeons begin to pourThe whiskey I said,Not a drop of Satan's blood,No whiskey, not one particle. No stupor.I will feel every second of that blade.I will know every layer of flesh you raise.