Waiting for blood work I play Bo Diddley’s beat with my thumbs. This
is me acting my age. A man walks in with a bleeding forehead. He sits |
next to me. The TV reminds us to ask our doctors if the screen is black.
Fiscus leaves yellow in the corner, children’s books spread over a green
table. Posters on the wall suggest colorfully we cover our coughs, our cell
phones protest being set to silent in an election year. A Spider Man Band
-Aid, inside my elbow, suggests I be brave, after all I’m not pregnant.
