The Sick Room
The Sick Room
The cable line runs beneath
radiators – generating heat
you are in bed
one ear smothered
with a feather pillow
another ear listening to
“Good Morning America.”
your thumb pushes a button,
every station is talking about
a man who killed his family
in a fit of rage
Good Morning America repeats
“He was known as a man
who cared about his family.”
blinds cover cheap
windows – cool air
seeps between the window frames
your thumb pushes a button
change the channel –
now a room becomes blurry,
eyes foggy – half seeing
a mind wondering –
Discovery?
A man is talking about
dinosaurs, as legs stretch
and necks become longer. . .
Push. Push.
A man touched a rock,
played games with monkeys,
made friends with a bear –
You swallow pills in the sick room.
Discovery Channel…
Remains of a skeleton.
Water came first, before
the mountains.
The screen projects a
four-legged creature as
a monster creeps closer
toward the edge of the
screen –
Your head rests on a
stack of pillows –
a needle inserted into
a vein as clear liquid
drips drop by drop into
a clear tube from a plastic
bag –
Whose sweater is hanging
from my bedpost?
Your control floats –
you reach to catch it –
glancing toward your
nightstand as light becomes
brighter –
eyes from a picture sitting
on the stand – staring back
at you…
“Discovery,” is gone.
Who placed a quilt on the
bed?
Push. Push.
A man is on the news
praising a man who killed
his family.
Nancy, fine work. Yes, we live with others–but we also live alone.
Andrew while I wrote this I pictured being in a room, where medication has taken over your thoughts, and your mind sees things, that are not there. Thanks so much for your comment. Nancy