Jun 282010
by Anne Bromley
Parked in the pharmacy lot, waiting,
I read the beer truck’s bumper:
Responsibility matters,
and hear the rumbling
engine of an R.V. devoted to blood donors.
The vehicle’s sides implore passers-by,
Somebody’s life depends on you,
but I am here to pick up drugs —
one to kill the tick’s disease
that would slowly break down
the cell’s defenses, the other to level despair,
to bring me up for air from the sea
of ordinary sorrows.
I cannot give today.
