The Glass Door

This isn’t helping, I can tell—

out of the shower and onto this pill.

Somebody guessed just what life was like
then made a pill for it.

I’m not mad at you. I’ve run out of that kind of madness.
I’m just confused—it’s only a little flu,

but your body circles my three-pronged cane,
and lands on the toilet like a vulture.

Ugh, I’m dying, you say, but you just mean nothing changes.

I wish I could help you. But only time can help you.
I wish it could help me.

The door is crying drops of water
that knew my face once—

press your face against my face
in the glass.

riverrun