Dr Seuss, Gen Med JMO

vivianimbriotis | May 23, 2023, 2:26 p.m.

I come home from the hospital; I try to type

The pokey motel room does not have a kitchen

It does have two wall-mounted massive black screens

I comfort myself that the hospital's paying

And sit in the shower 'til I see the light.

It is so hard to make my myself write

So I find myself writing about the motel.

The curtains remain a suggestion to sun

And I need to go sleep but this is close to fun

The worst of it all is the pointlessness.

Deep-seated fatigue that permeates through

Bourne of the sense that all that I do

All through the day does little renew

Nor comfort nor heal nor mend nor make true.

But what is the point in the capture of this?

The rendering down into slant rhymed language

Of a man's preconceptions and little breakdown

In two-TVed motels in a far coastal town?

I should let it all go like foam down the stream

The POST verb of HTML is obscene

When used to record some men I have been.

As I sit down, eat pasta and stare at the wall

I cant help a selfish urge dominate all

I want future Viv to remember me thus

Drowning in rosters and PowerChart pus

Maybe in time if he feels less at ease

He won't lose his only goddamn set of keys