Countermeasure

Little Brother Brazen
lives on floor number four
without shoes

the pharmacy is closed
forever indefinitely
like windows
are
up on the fourth floor

Little Puny Palms
hoarded
a wealth of contaminates
swallowing
dosage after dosage
until
an overdosed panic spilled
confession from
his eyes

he was charged
to
green masked men
green masked
women

clear plastic tubes
forced liquid charcoal
to disgorge
rich heaps of self-inflicted
euthanasia

My
Little Brother Brazen
was charged
to floor number four
where Dr. Head
took his windows
and shoes

countermeasure.

My Monsters

The monsters are awake,
lurking around
upstairs.  They hide out in the most
trimmed places;
stomping through the garden of adequacy, bathing
their filth in competency.

They awake me from agitated
sleep, speeding my attention away from the immune
hard-wood floor to
the bed of pins and needles they have
prepared.

The doctor says I have a choice.
I chose capsules.
(That was not the correct choice, they say)
I agree. The capsules do
not keep the monsters
away
or help me Rest In Peace – a
choice the doctor says is not a choice.

I am left with a capsule and the monsters,
swallowing the capsules with a pitcher of
beer – attempting a “submerge and die”, but they
have wicked
enamel on their
sharp little fangs and the capsule
is made of gel.

My monsters sink in their teeth and
shred open the pill
releasing the promised relief – One monster snatches a
handful and a thousand more follow, till
all the magical comfort
is stolen.

I can’t say I blame them – they
have an addiction. If these capsules do
what the doctor has promised, I would want a
piece of it, too.