Patients
(From “Patience” by Kay Ryan, 1999)
Sitting among friends
I have never met,
nor am likely to meet again,
resting in a reclining chair
I wish I had at home,
but not for it’s intended use.
Being seen to with loving care,
skillfully, smilingly, ably applied,
with the modesty experience brings,
in the fullness of dedication
from true earth angels.
A nestling needle,
like a diamond in its hardness,
plugged easily into a vein,
pushing curative chemicals
into the red rivers of my body.
It’s expensive, that chemistry,
prohibitive for some I would guess,
but not for me, grateful
for a younger life of work,
begetting a later life of insurance.
Who would have thought,
at a younger age,
a body could be made sustainable,
even as it carried disease,
(though not dis-ease)
cured by something otherwise
so dangerous,
allowing one to envision
a happy, healthy, lengthy life.
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