Stills/ Steals
Chrome green, shriek yellow, these pills, so appropriate. Bottled
sunshine, they’re called. I’m back to back with Prozac—wonder-woman
drug. So we have an agreement? No, I mumbled, but she hurtled
off the prescription anyway. Enjoy. The devil’s numbing
needles. I’ve been on this flimflam jaunt before—ends in
a cul-de-sac/ slash attic, poet tongue-tied, contemplating
noose. I’m not taking these anymore, I announce next session, and she
looks at me as if, unruly child. Psych-doctor drearie, I am sixty
and have now become no one’s child. She flappers on—
adjust the dosage, try another anti-d. I say, Exercise, meditation
and watch her lower lip curl. You need something—insert your own
word here—lovey, ducky, pumpkin, sweetie pie. I run from her office
to my car, roll down the windows, exhale. Let me feel—highs, lows
any blessed any of anything. Even that old cut loose trapeze/ slash trapeze
abyss. O unkempt clown heart—come back home. How I miss flambé-
red lipstick, black-kohled eyes, the whole shit-shebanging cabaret.
(Originally published by Many Mountains Moving – Won their 2009 Poetry Prize)
