All these fricken linens

And all these fucking chucks

They're compounding

It's astounding

Everything running amok

Pooping with an audience?

Try being that audience

And passing out is not allowed

Trust me,

I've tried 

Part of my job

Is to swab

From their nostrils

To their brains,

Rearranging what's inside

Somehow, they survived.

Somehow, so did I.

I love what I do

But contending with

The fucking chucks

The indecision,

The fricken linens

Nose swabs

Poop blobs...

Take me somewhere else!