Doctor Doctor

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Doctor Doctor
by Margaret Mary Riley

Be Careful!
The sign hangs over the
bin of discarded needles
[Biohazard Material]
grinding and beeping
the wheelchairs scream on the linoleum
The paraplegics lay still, cracking a smile.
I wear my disability on my neck
it sits atop my head,
and I like a broken parrot sit in the corner
croaking ‘Time? Time? Time?’
the medicine chimes wrinkle the room,
beating a drum
the nurses chirrup sweetly
and pass round Dixie cups
Pink and White
‘Margaret Mary’
yes, yes,
a dozen six armed nurses
clamp electrodes to my skin,
inject me with
something that tastes like flowers,
flick lights on and off,
and press me into a bed.
‘Do you feel this?’
‘Do you see this?’
Sighing, I Folded them
into One Box
burrowing inside my sternum hissing equations
in some foreign dialect
it trembles with all its Might
digging patterns –
‘Time for your second dose’
the candy striper chews her lip
placing the cup in my lap,
A Gift.

1 thought on “Doctor Doctor

  1. A nerve-wracking collection of the garbage that goes on inside a hospital room, narrated with eerie detached cool by the patient. You needn’t have been there to relate to it.

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