The doctor was built like a fist
or an overstuffed chair,
wore a pink shirt,
told me about his morning and right away
offered me a prescription to Valium.
He asked me my height and where I was moving,
asked me if I wanted Atavan, like that was normal,
like I was normal, like I could be cured
like a housewife is cured,
turned into a soft and colorless footpillow,
turned into a throw rug
or an uncurled hand.
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