2/17/16
They call it compression fracture
L5, as if my vertebra was a piece
of tofu smashed and squeezed, a
diagnosis just to keep me in the
hospital, away from my wife,
who needs my feeding.
My feeding for my wife, regularly
at 12 and 6, who forgets everything,
except to breathe, stare, and lay down.
I carried the IV bag, put on my
shirt and pants, quickly running
the corridor maze like mouse,
jumping into that yellow taxi,
to catch the feeding time.
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