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)