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.
This blog is like the ridiculous sweater I bought at Anthropologie a few years ago. It was on sale and the sales lady told me "it looks awesome on you." It's the most bizarre sweater, and whether it looked good on me or not, is highly debatable. Like these blogs, I look at them at say "Yeesh, what was I thinking,," or laugh or bath in their cathartic qualities. The sweater stays for the same reasons.