Sundays used to be paper in bed
and a cup of coffee peaceful mornings.
Maybe a greater if
someone made breakfast.
Now Sunday morning is pill-pushing time.
Pillboxes with days marked
with most appropriate large print.
Each Sunday pills for
seven days are measured out.
And each Sunday the boxes
are optimistically filled.
It is as if the filling of each box is a warranty
for another week of life.
There red pills, for... now what is it for?
And the green are two a day.
Is it morning and night or
two at night?
Oh well, so long as the dreaded disease
is fed the poison.
I take the pills and
I am still alive.
There seems to be a relationship,
which makes my doctor seem very smart.
But what if it is a scam
between the pharmaceutical companies
and doctors?
What if all these pills are outrageously
expensive placeboes?
It may be true.
Sounds like American greed.
But they use their knowledge
of Depth Psychology and
then to them it is
no secret that I strive for immortality.
I will take their darn pills
and dream of being 100+.
Promise me anything less than that
and I will flush the pills down a thirstier throat.