Friday, July 26, 2013

Pravastatin, 3 Refills

A smoke-eyed vixen squeezed into black jeans
Your shoulders covered with inky feathers and petals
Next to you here on the couch, I fold myself carefully
To keep from accidentally brushing against you
The cushion is quicksand, you should stop leaning forward
Candles and Christmas cookies and glass pipes
Scattered on the coffee table
Leaning close to be heard over the ping-pong conversations
You ask how my day was. I realize you're just being polite
Just making conversation, but I find myself babbling on anyways
About waking up at four in the morning
With my tongue swollen up like
A Gila monster tail in my mouth, and a fist squeezing it
My throat pinched and scraped
Swallowing swords, breathing flames
As I shed the dry skin of my sleep, I realized I was having
An allergic reaction to the new medication
Foisted onto me to lower my cholesterol.
I go on and on about my cholesterol,
My tongue, how much I hate my doctor-
Anything to keep from lunging at you, or at least
Palming the pale patch of bare skin
Between your t-shirt and the visible elastic
Of your underpants. You shouldn't listen
To this creaky old man kvetch about his ailments
There is no reason for you to; young, lithe, vibrant,
And genuinely sweet to boot, but you do.
God help us both, you do.

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