Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Belle Waring’s "Twenty-Four Week Preemie, Change of Shift" is a visceral, urgent poem that captures the raw intensity of a life-or-death medical emergency. Written in free verse without stanza breaks, the poem mirrors the relentless, breathless pace of a high-stakes ambulance ride and emergency medical intervention. The absence of punctuation in key moments, the use of enjambment, and the abrupt shifts in tone all contribute to the chaotic energy that defines the experience of neonatal emergency care.

The poem plunges the reader into the action immediately: "We?re running out of O2 / screaming down the southwest freeway in the rain..." The combination of present-tense narration and rapid-fire syntax immerses us in the scene, heightening its immediacy. The phrase "junk for lungs" brutally emphasizes the infant’s fragility—born prematurely at just twenty-four weeks, the baby’s lungs are barely functional, and survival is uncertain. The urgency escalates as the ambulance gets caught in "rush hour", an ironic juxtaposition of life-or-death urgency against everyday commuter frustration.

The ambulance driver’s response—"You bet the driver said and pulled right onto the median strip with that maniacal glee they get"—provides a moment of almost reckless exhilaration. Waring captures the adrenaline-fueled camaraderie of medical professionals in crisis mode, where danger is not something to fear but something to push through. The narrator admits, "I was too scared for the kid and drunk with the speed the danger—that didn?t feel like danger at all it felt like love—to worry about my life." This admission is central to the poem: the intense, selfless commitment of healthcare workers who risk everything to save a life. The word "love" in this context is striking, suggesting a kind of profound devotion that transcends fear.

Upon arrival at the hospital, the poem shifts to a new setting but maintains its breakneck momentum. "And when we got to the unit / the attending physician—Loretta—was there and the nurses and the residents they save us." The phrasing suggests not just that they save the baby, but that they save each other—a recognition of the collective effort required in such moments. Loretta, the attending physician, emerges as a powerful figure: "Loretta plants her stethoscope on the kid?s chest and here comes the tech driving the portable X-ray like it?s a Porsche—Ah Jesus he says / the baby?s so puny he could fit on your dinner plate." The simile comparing the tech’s handling of the X-ray machine to driving a Porsche captures the precision and expertise demanded in these situations, even as the sheer smallness of the preemie reinforces the tragedy of the scene.

The next section of the poem focuses on the X-ray process, which is presented with almost ritualistic reverence. The tech’s command—"X-ray says the tech and everybody backs up, way back except for Loretta / so the tech drapes a lead shield over her chest"—introduces a moment of eerie stillness in the otherwise frenetic scene. Waring describes the "moment after he cones down the lens / just before he shoots / you hold your breath, you forget what?s waiting / back at your house." The outside world ceases to exist for those involved; all personal concerns are suspended in the singular focus of saving the baby.

Loretta’s unwavering presence is emphasized: "Loretta, all right, ambu-bagging the kid never misses a beat / calm and sharp as a mama-cat who?s kicked the dog?s butt now softjaws her kitten out of the ditch." The simile here is remarkable—Loretta is both fierce and nurturing, embodying the dual qualities necessary for a doctor in a neonatal intensive care unit. Her "scrub top on backwards so you can?t peep down to her peanutty boobs" adds an intimate, almost humorous detail, reinforcing her competence and confidence.

The final section of the poem builds to a profound emotional climax. The line "There?s a moment / you can?t even hear the bag puffing / quick quick quick before the tech shoots for just that second I quit being scared I forget to be scared" conveys an instant of pure clarity and focus. In the most critical moment, fear dissolves, replaced by total presence. This leads to the poem’s final, devastating question: "God / How can people abandon each other?" After witnessing such unwavering care and effort to save a single, fragile life, the idea of human abandonment—whether literal, emotional, or systemic—becomes incomprehensible.

Waring’s poem is both a tribute to the medical professionals who fight to preserve life and a meditation on human connection. The structure, with its breathless enjambment and lack of stanza breaks, mirrors the relentless energy of the moment, while the unfiltered, conversational tone immerses the reader in the rawness of emergency medicine. The final line expands the scope of the poem beyond the NICU, forcing us to consider not only the baby’s fight for survival but also our own responsibilities to one another.

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