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Xanax, 1 mg, as
needed, which is up to me,
I guess, who needs or doesn’t that cold white
Flower at the brain’s stem. And what am I trading:
Skeptical irony for spiking adrenalin,
even, a wash,
I think, when I talk to my wife, in the hospital
For her second pulmonary embolism in two weekends.
Oh, I was clearer-headed than that winter’s day, as sharp,
As numb, knowing the road to the ER, the routine
Of triage and waiting, good at pretending it wasn’t,
Nothing was happening. Are you taking care,
The good wishers all ask, and yes I say, meaning
I’ve got my mechanisms of defense all in place,
Got one foot moving ahead of the next, and
That’s all folks, until the pills wear off, and what’s
Left is what I started with, minus whatever this new
Need is I’ve learned now that I know what’s needed.
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