Every day seems the same

Swallow a handful of pysch pills

Open a mailbox full of medical bills

Measuring my life by insurance claim

Every tablet is money down the drain.

I clock into a job I can do with the blues.

Where all my coworkers live by Fox News.

And whisper about patients with needle tracked veins.

Mamas bring their babies to keep them alive.

I think about four months of missing my pancreas med.

Barfing and shitting so my son was fed.

A nurse smirks while marking “failure to

thrive”.