The Students
(listen to the poem, read by the author)
crowd around my bed as I lay on my stomach.
They watch, scribble notes as the nurse’s roll my trousers up.
First the ice spray, it numbs the area. It doesn’t.
The needle sinks into my hamstring, then my calf.
When it’s over my dad hands me a Pac-Man game.
The white coats keep writing.
Back to Poetry | Back to Volume 14, Issue 2 – June 2020
About the Author
Karl Knights is an autistic writer with cerebral palsy. His prose and poetry have appeared in The Guardian, The Dark Horse, The North, and Under the Radar. He is twenty-three and lives in Suffolk, England.