Trying not to think
About the dimpled, rotting flesh
Squishing and slipping
Under my bloody rubber fingers
Or the aching of my brachioradialis
Or the stench of bovi-burned fat
Or the kind of sadness that must have brought her to this state
As the resident scowls with furrowed brow and pursed lips
And searches within the gaping wound for bleeders
As I struggle in a tug-of-war between medical student and pannus.