03 mars 2009
MEDICINE.
All I know
about my medicine I picked up
from my doctor friend in
who drank
and took drugs. We were buddies
until I
moved East. I’m saying
I was never sick a day in my life.
But something has appeared
on my shoulder and continues to grow.
A wen, I think, and love the word
but not the
thing itself, whatever
it is. Late at night my teeth ache
and the
phone rings. I’m ill,
unhappy and
alone. Lord!
Give me
your unsteady knife,
doc. Give
me your hand, friend.
Raymond Carver, Where water comes together with other water
*
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