X-ray Poem

I took a little artistic liberty(!) with the Statue of Liberty poem, The New Colossus, by Emma Lazarus.

Radiographer's Poem

Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled kyphotic masses yearning to breath free, without COPD,

The wretched refuse scooped from off the floor

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed half-drowned to me,

I lift my x-ray beam inside the lead lined door.

Here's the original poem:

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame,
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore,
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

I love my job! This week has been really, really good in x-ray land. I did an awesome cross table knee on Tues. The pt was unconsious, but the films looked like they were done on a walkie talkie. X-ray rocks!