The man from Nantucket
Lately I've been writing more poetry than prose. The limerick form has been creeping in more and more even as I practice penning sonnet. And that reminds me of a story. If you've heard it I'm sorry, but I'm sure I've never written it here.
Years ago, I've been doing this gig as an anesthetist for a lot of years so I'm entitled to start with "years ago," before political correctness and perceived sexual harassment made a travesty of human interactions, I routinely had student nurses come to my spot at the head of the OR bed to "observe" a surgical operation. While the majority of their time was devoted to advancing their knowledge of nursing, surgery, anatomy and physiology it was also not uncommon for the conversation to take on a more colloquial tone.
On one particular occasion, as the surgery was nearing completion, I asked a student: did you ever hear the story about the man from Nantucket? She demurely replied, "no, I've not heard it."
Feeling duty bound to widen her knowledge I recited;
"There once was a man from Nantucket
Who kept all his cash in a bucket.
His daughter named Nan
Ran off with a man,
And the Cash? Nan tucket."
She faced me with a serious stare said, "that's not the way I heard it!"
The limerick invaded my head
With two students at the surgical bed:
their minds all supple and bare
While watching the surgery there.
It was jokes I offered instead.