Wednesday, November 02, 2016

Poem Written First Thing in the Morning

Ode to Pharmacy

I realize
I've been counting
my days in pill bottles:
30 days,
60 days,
90 days,
happy pills,
calm pills,
water pills,
I-don't-even-know-
what-these-are-for
pills. Those
are the driest.
I take them with diet soda,
first thing in the morning,
bubbles and acid
pushing them down
my throat.
"How are you alive?"
my brother asks me.
And I laugh.

Because why not?
Somewhere, someone
else can barely
get out of bed,
his legs only good
as reminders,
and somewhere else,
a lover has a headache,
the real deal,
the kind that doesn't
let you open your eyes,
and somewhere else,
a mother stares blankly
at her burned out house,
a little girl
in a fragmented dress,
hugging her leg
tightly enough
to leave more bruises.
No, my meds
are the least of life's problems,
and this mess of a home
with pink socks on the floor
(they're supposed to be white),
black dog fur stuck to the rug,
white cat hair covering the sofa,
dishes in the sink,
the trite clutter of middle America,
who cares?
It's about perspective,
and thirty million people in China
really don't give a damn
about my fat rear
or my split ends
or anything
having to do with zits.
The bags under my eyes
are a little darker this morning,
puffy as I think about
the great weight of the world.
What's that, Big Pharma?
You're taking over the planet?
Good luck with that.
Not everyone can afford you.

Copyright 2016
Katherine Gotthardt
All Rights Reserved
 

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