Immediate Song. Don Bogen

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Immediate Song - Don Bogen

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often you are too expensive, the price

      of the medicine closes your clear doors,

       and the poor go back, jaws clenched, to the dark room

       of staying sick. May the day arrive

      when you’ll be free, no longer peddling hope,

      and the victories of life, all human life,

      over great death will be your victories.

       viii. A Joke

      A guy goes into a hospital with stage-one

      melanoma on his arm, has it removed,

      and asks the doctor—Lebanese, from Beirut,

      with olive skin, black hair, and wet brown eyes

      wild as Ernie Kovacs’s—how to prevent

      another cancerous mole. A one-beat pause,

      then: Have genes like mine? A break for laughs,

      a handshake, and the doctor leaves the room,

      the braces on his shoes thumping the floor.

      The body is a weight the hospital

      can help us lift. And it’s a kind of clock

      the hospital tries to read. There are times

      preset in your cells, when things will get

      interesting: tests in special rooms,

      cameras snaked inside you, you inside

      a beige machine that magnetizes you

      and clanks. How late is it? My turn now?

      Even the gorgeous rich who can afford

      trainers to help polish their good fortune

      have a particular spot in that waiting line

      and never can be certain where it is.

       ix. Dictionary

      Hospital, from hospes, a guest or host.

      Neither stays very long at the hospitale,

      or inn. Administrators leave at five,

      patients are discharged, and doctors zip

      between wards and their offices in the world

      like scouting bees. The buildings themselves imply

      the temporary, with curtains, partitions

      instead of walls, and multipurpose rooms.

      Wings open up and shut down, entrances

      are swallowed as exteriors become

      interiors that don’t quite fit, and age

      cracks out through paint and plaster till at last

      the whole structure is smashed by wrecking balls,

      or picked apart, or imploded as we watch

      on TVs that might as well be screens

      charting our own collapse. The hospital,

      then, as heap of rubble, memento mori,

      a transient guesthouse housing transients.

       x. Sealed Rooms

      Sometimes there are unexpected stays—

      Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

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