A Mid Fall's Night

The sun has set some time ago,

The night before last,
And all through county not a call was being placed, not even an "I've fallen" 

Ambulance plugged in, wheels ready to roll, hopes of a stroke emergency will soon be here.
EMS providers comfy are all snug in their seats.

Thoughts of diabetics and traumas of past were dancing through medics heads. 

Suddenly with out much warning, came a tap tap tap at the window. 

Waking the snoring dispatcher in such a startle. 

Getting up from my desk, eyes filled with joy, I head to dispatch to see what was the matter.

The glow from the neon light shows us what the noise had been.
Could it be, A patient in need?

A call for help? maybe it is an assault? 

Or maybe a chest pain

But no, it is none of these
Twas a drunk cold urban nomad slurring as he speech.
"Its Nisss un.....warmth and conthy."
Looking for a warm place to stay no doubt on this chilly fall night.
The aroma of booze lingered off his breath
Before we had a moment to think the door opened again
In came the officer to escort our late night visitor away to his sleigh
"I'll take him" he said with a jolly chuckle
With a spring in his step, and away with his catch
"Sorry to disturb you and have a good night"

Be Safe
Ambulance Junkie

A chance encounter

He sits waiting but for who he doesn't know.

I sit finishing up my chart from the last run.

He looks at the passing faces with confusion and concern.

I look at my fellow workers and strike up a conversation.

He wants to call out for help but is afraid.

I get the call for help and head for the scene.

He meets an officer and he answers "I cant move along" wiith an embarassed feeling.

I meet the officer who admits he thought he was just another vagrant.

He tries to stand but he can not.

I tell him not to stand, though he still attempts.

He doesn't know what to make of me

I don't know what to make of him.

He says he can do it on his own.

I say let us help.

He feels young at heart, he looks old and aged. The sun has blemished his skin, the wind has hardened his face. His wrinkles chissled in his face's granite fasade, His eyes blueish grey screaming out in pain and anguish. Time has washed all the color from his hair and beard leaving it white. His hands, rough as sand paper and cold as ice, his fingers jaggedly contorting inwards with lose of dexterity. This urban nomads right foot externally rotated from years of abuse to his body, his left leg bent.

He wears layers of clothes because he has no place to keep them, his boots tied up with rope. He has spent years on the street. Made it through heat waves and blizzards, droughts and floods, and has received hand outs and has been made a fool of. He is an old weathered man to stubborn to know when to give in to the help that surrounds him. Or maybe He feels to much pride to accept from those who offer assistance.

Not knowing what its like to be him, He knows not what it is to be me. There is something that connects us on this day, we are both fighting to keep him safe.

Be Safe

Ambulance Junkie