By Norm Jenson
He talked me through the procedure. He even drew a diagram and showed me where the scar would be. I was admitted, and soon I was being wheeled down the pea-green hall to the operating room. Which is where I saw him again, the surgeon, but now he looked different, less competent, more like a taxidermist I’d once met.
Norm Jenson does his writing in Sandy Utah. His work has appeared in the OPEN: Journal of Arts and Letters, Columbia Poetry Review, and other venues. When not writing he enjoys a friendly game of chess, an evening with Bach, or an outing birding with his sweetie.