life would be, if we
were not free to
rove pharmacies! To cruise
aisles in grocery
stores, choosing our favorite pre-
fabricated remedies.
To hold in our fingers
these objects of desire
and crinkle the plastic
while we read the smooth, reassuring
words on their packages.
Then, without any doubt
or delay whatsoever,
to make them ours outright
by transacting money
at a high sterile counter.
How giddy are we
to take them home
and bring them inside these weird
slots where we live—
where we turn on a light
(but not too many)
and begin to tear into them
with everything we've got,
like a harried and desperate
single parent
whose ungovernable child
cuts a more exquisite reflection
then they'll ever feel ready
to admit in a session.
