A Pharmaceutical Haiku:
As I drive thru for pick-up,
I swiftly reach toward
the tunnel of meds
I place my grasp on a
crinkly-gleaming white bag of scripts
“Express pay please” I say, smiling with giddiness ….
I bathe in the knowledge,
Co-insurance hasn’t dawned it’s doom,
I continue to grin,
to the musical snapping sound,
…A Pharmacist-tech staples,
100-gazillion-thousand page thesis
in teeny tiny fine
squint worthy print
Possible side effects:
-death by break-dancing
-instantaneous limb severance
-morphing into a unicorn centaur
-sudden urges to burp or burpee
I look into the prescription goody bag
A bedding of crisp Saffroned zoloft,
Infused with a Crackle of Buspar,
finished with a soussant of Wellbutrin.
The pharmacist tech glances down,
furrows her brow a bit,
waves her boss over….
The phone intercom beeps loudly!
our eyes meet,
the Pharmacist bellows out
a stern caveat-warning in
“Make sure you don’t spill any – it’s a federally controlled substance and you cannot get a refill until it’s time…”
..he stared at me
glasses on the bridge of his nose
as I absorb the subtext,
“NOT for any Momtocktails”
……..or he knows I’m incredibly clumsy.
I got you.
Momma knows the drill.
The federally controlled substance is not for me , it’s for a family member. For those or receive updates on my blog, and know me, I am not drinking or utilizing any controlled substances. I am just taking a incredibly , painful stab at poetry..After careful review and many attempts, I think I’m going to stick to blogging and my book.
I should have learned from my feeble attempt at understanding poetry. My 3rd grade teacher asked us to write and summarize the words to a famous poet from 18th/19th century and I choose Whodini’s – Five Minutes of Funk.
Man, I love that song.