I meet , daily, at 11 am, with a group of four
Grim, unsmiling people.
one of them, the lead
wears a priest's collar
and I wonder if he's judging me
negatively because I don't attend Mass.
Shades of orange
Their auras, I suppose
wrapped around laptops
I felt like the
chairman of the board
leaning down the table
and I didn't like it.
In their capable, authoritarian hands
Much went on behind the scenes.
In the meantime
I get to see what people do in prison
to pass time
I could see the criss-cross cut
of self-harm on one patient
and the girlfriend too young
to understand adult caretaking
At least I was not the couch-stuck posture of
the clinically depressed
I’m tentacled to a hospital staff
Their recommendations determine my fate
And I shuffle impatiently
Waiting for an answer
This is medical purgatory.
1 March 2017