... that fell to the floor and skittered under my desk.
I try bending over but I don’t bend so good.
I slide off the chair and get down on my bony knees
but then my shoulder keeps me from ducking under
the table, and now my neck feels like it might go out.
I get on all fours and duck my head under, and the way is clear until
I start wheezing, and my eyes bug out, and my heart begins
to thump and that big vein pulses up top, I can even
feel the stress in my hair. But then -- there it is, my precious Zytiga,
the pill of the gods, $120 apiece on the open market,
the mud-colored pearl that keeps my cancer at bay,
now bearded weird with bunny dust. I hold the pill between two fingers
like a host held up to chiming bells and think this magic stone
will keep me alive, unless I have to squeeze
under this desk again.
2018