awash in rain,
our cars slow down,
stopping at intersections
till babies crawl across,
staying between the white lines,
all the while our feet
pulsate on gas pedals,
anxious to push
on to the pharmacy
where white-clothed graduates
count pills into brown flasks,
slap labels
with our names,
in ink;
in essence we become
junkies waiting for laxatives
and pin-up girls,
promised by scientists
sprightly smiling,
knowing what we’ll
be doing that night.
Larry,
As disturbing as these words are, there is a ring of truth in them. One of the purposes of a poet is to open the eyes of the world. In this you have achieved your purpose. Well written!
Chanti
Hell yeah. I agree with everything you've said here. That's also why I steer clear of anything that even hints at doctors, medication, hospitals, etc...
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Love Tinka
As disturbing as these words are, there is a ring of truth in them. One of the purposes of a poet is to open the eyes of the world. In this you have achieved your purpose. Well written!
Chanti
prescription: reading your words
and i know they won't be harmful to my health :)
this is exceptionally astute and truthful.
"...in essence we become
junkies...." BAM--SPOT ON!!!!!!!!
(((HUGS))), love and merry Christmas, karla. :)