Hands Cupped Around Styrofoam Cups - August 18th Poem About a June 10th Day.

Current mood: calm

Hands Cupped Around Styrofoam Cups

Pristine needle pricks all the while
we toss facts about baseball & the state of the Giants.
Alcohol swabbed and the gauze is taped over the spot.

Ten minutes later around 12:15, the 4th nurse of the day stops by
and hands over a pink pill.
No questions are asked, just swig and swallow.

Looking up at the ceiling, back on skinny mattress,
the voice of a nurse pages random doctors.
Their names fall out of the speakers’ tiny holes
as if they were confetti falling, twisting ,dropping onto the just
mopped, Pinesol cleaned tiles.
If you stretch your ears out you can barely catch them.

In the waiting room, hands that wrapped the now patients’ hands
are now cupped around small Styrofoam cups.
In the twilight, the blue haze coming off the small light bulb
from the sole vending machine standing watch over the corner
is armed with all the sugar and salt that can protect you.

Currently listening: Music by Cavelight By Blockhead Release date: By 23 March, 2004