20/20

MORNING. AROUND 9 AM.
Quivering buttcheeks kissing the cold stainless steel
Shivering uncontrollably like a trapped vibrator
I was on a fucking vacation, I was trying hard to feel
Something other than apprehension for events that really matter

Yet, a call, is it Doc or my mother, I guess the former is the latter
and visa versa, there is no difference when it comes to health
Both have sketchy assumptions that they know what’ll be better
I’m eons and an Oprah episode past picking apart my own self

Girls in women’s uniforms snag some pills from dusty shelves
Cram as much as they can into my gaping hungry maw
Before prodding the folds of my skin with sucky syringes, I felt
Crooked teeth behind perfect red lips assure me that the law

Reads ‘it’s perfectly legal here to swipe a dead man’s cornea’
So I lay back on the arctic slate like a slab of experimental beef
While Doc blocks the glare, peering over me saying ‘blah blah blah’
because they’re smothering my senses with magic gas and false beliefs.

WHILE I’M KNOCKED OUT.
Unicorns and clean politicians
Scrapped away for demolition
I’m a bird and you’re a plane
You’re the doctor and I’m insane
Love me Mother, wait outside
Maybe after this, I can really drive

6 MONTHS LATER.
Drop. Drip. Each two-hour slips.
Tablets. Pills. And sticky notes
 Remind me of what I forgot to wrote
This is supposed to be my ticket out of Dunnstock (of course you didn't watch Heathers)
18 stitches and a cross-linked additional fix
I’m a sad sack of a Mad Hatter
If I still believe in my own optical tricks

NOW.
Rear view mirrors reflect the raw reasons sulking behind shrugged off excuses
There’s the clutch. There’s the signal. Have you memorized their uses?
Mother’ll be pouncing on your aching back (you’ve gone for two, you know the drill okay)
Doc’ll be counting cash deposits in front of his medicine rack (they haven’t healed enough to command cars, so be patient and wait)
Grab that gear stick, Hazim, and chuck the facts
You know you want to…just not give a crap...and just drive away…and
reanimate yourself.

20/20

[I figured now was as good as any other time to write about my own cornea transplant and my inability to drive because of my dummy eyesight. Rrrrright? Cross my heart and hope to die. Stick a needle in my right eye. RAWR]

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© Hazim Haemoglobin 2012

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20/20


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