In Generic World you go to local
Hospital, and they say: “Welcome to Hospital,”
and you can feel that capital letter, like they
extra-mean it.
You have a problem with one of
your organs, and they say:
“Organ Problem!”
And you nod your head.
“Let’s get that taken care of,”
they say with Teeth.
Doctor tries to help you. Nurse checks Vitals.
You fade out, and Organ does too.
Afterward, you lie there in your bed at night
listening to your roommate share
complaints about his pain and
the uneven road
that got him here, in this bed, beside you
talking through this curtain late at night.
There’s nothing generic happening at midnight.
At midnight everything is very clear and specific,
all the way to the tips of your fingers, the rough touch
of the bandage you press against to figure out
if you’re healing well.
If they put you back.
Around 1:30, the conversation settles down.
You drink your juice.
You close your eyes.
