___________
blue gowns and gray walls
you can call it “the institution”
the paint is thick on the wooden door
of my isolated cubicle
the liquid is like the paint
thick like syrup
white as primer
tinged with a taste
of chemical waste & vanilla
it’s been marinating in a styrofoam cup
since it’s manufacturing
in the immaculate labs
of Pfizer.
i feel strangely corporal
naked under this sky-blue dress
that is nothing less than depressing
my toes are cold, my eyes are tired
i seem to blend in perfectly with the floor
i feel like i’ve been waiting here forever
not because i’m impatient
but in less than an hour i feel as though
i know this cubicle by heart
and that i’ve seen the view of the corridor
from the chair a hundred times before.
and as i lie upon the stainless steel table
i am james bond in goldfinger
about to be killed by a crazy hooligan
with a laser beam in one hand
and a scorching laugh rolling off his tongue.
thor has condemned me
and the ice cold table
offers me no conciliation.
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