Room M14

Like rats, they gather in bunches:
One black Two blue Three green Four
I heard his short story sputter on my nails
from his volcanic mouth; his words erupted
with memories flowing up my arms to my brain,
sweltering and spicy agave jogging through
my veins as the nurses handled their
witchcraft—the apothecary’s right hand.
They doused his cauldron body:
Morphine Delotid Vicoden
and garnished their concoction with saline.
Pantera Park: It was a Tuesday afternoon.
Three blind kids raced laps in wheel chairs.
And that annoying old woman that
screamed at her little girl playing softball:
Eight swing Nine swing Ten swing
They lost the game that evening,
the whole professional crew with their
professional badges, degrees, and experience;
they wiped off their loss like a tally mark
on the whiteboard. Squeaky marker, it only
squealed of Wins and whispered about the Mess-ups.
Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen
Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen
Nineteen Twenty Twenty-one
Twenty-one
Twenty-one

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Written on April 23, 2009