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DOCTOR’S ORDERS

May 18, 2018

Here comes the cold snap,

And the rain hits hard,

Windows open ….

 

A criminal act,

Before my eyes,

Cash withdrawal,

Two cards.

 

The currency here is strange,

It’s of a sickly colour,

It costs very little,

But all is relative.

 

A jacket, warn once,

Pockets don’t open,

Its pants have a hole,

A burgeoning hole,

The suit is wrecked.

 

But today, I look good,

They’ll notice. They’ll obey,

They’ll be good, for I look good,

Looking good, feeling ill,

It’s all in my head.

 

Someone takes paces,

Back and forth,

But she isn’t yet arrived,

It’s a spectre’s pacing.

 

Coffee in a glass cup,

How fanciful, how strange,

How out of the ordinary.

Monday’s a holiday,

All is joyous.

 

Coffee is not a trouble,

Not a concern,

So says doctor,

I’ll drink it at will, hence.

 

Doctor’s personal anecdotes,

I can have a coffee at midnight and sleep’,

Yes, but he’s a head doctor,

A trauma surgeon,

But he caused all the trauma.

 

I was his test guinea pig,

For all the drugs on earth,

Then I felt I had no more need,

For him. Only for his drugs.

 

A fateful decision,

I’ll see you twice’,

That third day, I was shot,

My head. I was alone.

 

I need this conversation,

One sided. Except when he interests,

My poetry. My writing. His interest,

He cares not for me but for my writing,

I know this. I interest him.

 

But then, he was always sure of me,

Sure I’d succeed,

And with little success, I did,

He had his way.

 

I am captive, in his grasp,

His grasp is firm,

How to quit a doctor,

How to set him free,

Myself free.

 

Now, the dosage is good,

Now, I could leave,

I say this. I can’t,

I’m captive. He’s old,

Captive till his retirement,

Or his dying day.

I await his death.

 

Every day he’s here,

In his darkened room,

The blinds always drawn,

He’s pale. The sun doesn’t reach him,

Nor I. I hide in shadows.

 

One bad day,

I’ll change my opinion,

My official position,

Just so you won’t have your way.

Yes: you hold all the power,

And I’m just a poor boy.

 

But at least not a poor girl,

So they say.

I walk the streets,

I look at the sky,

It’s grey. I’m grey.

But not in whoredom.

 

A final gulp,

He surprised me today,

I was at ease. He called,

A strange day.

I lie.

I’m not cured.

I’m cured until a certain hour,

Then I’m hit.

But you won’t believe.

This one final hope.

After, you’re out.

 

The blacks, the whites,

A different price for different shades,

A drink a day. Alcoholism,

Take another path.

 

Oh, she’s darling,

Speaking of home,

I live with a friend, not far.

 

My only friend: doctor,

He knows his place,

His face, it haunts,

Nightly dreams. Nightly traumas.

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