dead leaves scratching along

the sidewalks

lonely on a city street

everyone insulated from each other

isolated by despair & other troubles, and, well,

you know, the pains have come back,

flanked by that familiar worried nausea

that grips me, unrelenting,

a strangling cloak Ive worn since

being a nervous skinny kid

& the click clack

of medicines I carry in my bag sound

like some old ladys dentures,

but the doctor greets me wearily,

my legs turning splotchy purple

under a paper gown;



Ive worried myself into a charged wire

waiting for the worst

& someone steals my thoughts

before I get them down on paper;

I crunch more antacids

over the sounds of the television

over the sound of the rats gnawing

their bitter hole

over the scratch of my pen on paper,

the worries of tomorrow just

a looming shadow.

Want to comment on this Poetry? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Poetry and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...