At Abbott Vascular, cool and clean,
Where catheters glide through veins unseen,
One man stands out in lab coat white—
A pickle-eater, noon and night.
While others sip their tea or snack,
He pops a lid, leans slowly back,
And from the jar with practiced flair,
He lifts his prize into the air.
No fuss, no flair, no idle talk,
Just crunch and brine on every walk.
“Sharpens the mind,” he’s known to say,
“Cuts through the fog like light of day.”
And though his work is steel and thread,
It’s vinegar dreams that fuel his head.
In hearts repaired and vessels cleared,
The pickle’s role is rightly revered.