Oct/Nov 2009 Poetry

I am not a doctor but maybe

by Gregory Sherl

Image: NASA/JPL/University of Arizona

I am not a doctor but maybe

I know a few doctors: one sticks an otoscope
in my ear and says You've got wax buildup; you can get
an over the counter for that.
Another writes prescriptions.

When I get the prescriptions they're generics,
but they're supposed to be the same, so I twist
off the caps and take each one dry.

I tell myself to be happier when I almost get into a fender bender,
but brake in time.

Another doctor wants to know why I'm scared to go to sleep.
She wants to know what I can do to help myself.

I tell myself to be happier that my co pay is low enough
that I can still afford a latte after.

There are other doctors that aren't my doctors.
Some of them are good and some of them can't save
my sister and now she's in a box no bigger than a large
shoebox. The box is in the ground.

I can't see it from where I stand. Hopefully I'm not
on top of it; hopefully I'm standing in front of it,
like if she were above ground our feet would be touching.


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