August Poem 42: Single Payer Healthcare: It Will Only Cost Your Soul

I was seeing its fresh Christian thunder,

Eyes that had seen the millennium set

On deep clay. Wearing what weren’t even

Tamed and pulled closed. The hospital gowns. For

Me, they brought two. The pale horse. Six foot four.

Two hundred and twenty-five pounds of grey

Flesh. Tie one on backwards and one on forwards

To haunt the white halls. To determine the

Bodily apocalypse waging. To

Be wheeled from one bright room to another.

To be prodded with cold instruments. To

Be fed through the center of a spinning

Machine. Modern inquisition to force

My confession. My forced resurrection.


August Poem 16: Weekend with Dad

What is it to be a son? To be a

Tool to make the ladies swoon. To make them

Gather in the hospital hallway. To

Have them pinch your cheeks. To blush when they call

You handsome. To be confused when they call

You, a child, sexy. To be fodder

as your father takes in your praises. As

He lets the ladies know that he has you

For the weekend. That he is virile. That

He is eligible. That he has good

Strong genes. That he can father a handsome

Child. That he is dutiful. That he is

Loving. That he would bring his son to work

So he could flirt with the younger ladies.