Walking Home From the Drugstore with My Guide Dog, Anti-depressants In My Pocket

Crossing the street in hot traffic
The pills make a mariachi sound
As if we’re at a party
And not plunging blindly
Into the hop-scotch faith-game
Called being-alive-going-places
Shik shik go the pills
Which are made for those
Without faith
Shik shik
Under the shimmering sun
As if a countdown
Has started

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University View all posts by skuusisto