Last Will and Testament
Being of sound mind & body
well, considering the pain killers
antibiotics vitamins
various medications injected
ingested inhaled by myself
over the years
the sound of body I have
is the rattle of my lungs
the flap of my mouth
as I spew at those around me
and if they were asked
they certainly wouldn’t
testify to my clarity of mind
so perhaps we can skip
that part of the testament
to the smug snug drug manufactures
who feel the astronomical cost
of the medications is justified
by the cost of research
I ask how many of those researchers profited
or did the vast profits
go to share holders
to smarmy executives or
publicists
who made sure the world knew
of the wonder drug
to my various doctors I leave
this signed & numbered series
ultrasounds of my rumbling body
x-rays of my chest
mri’s of the brain
cat scans of the frontal lobes
blood tests of dwindling white corpuscles
ultraviolet blow-ups
that turn even the most devastating germs
into a colourful abstract designs
to serve as a suitable screen saver
reminders that you weren’t life savers
that little of what you did
added to the quality of my life
added to my soundness of mind
to the length of this dilapidated existence
to my specialists who tsk tsk
when I decided to have one last smoke
one more drink
one little toke
then drove off
in your bmw’s
to sunny gold golf courses
or who were out of town
at conventions
when I had my seizures
who found me so truculent
only sedatives seemed to do the trick
to you I leave
the empty feeling of
having no emotion other than
the small spike of rage
that would filter through
the fog around my brain
a beacon of fury
that could cut the pain
the frustration and spite
without which
I may have just pulled the chemical blanket up
over my chin
and gone silent into that happy light
to you charming scientists
I leave
the fact that you are powerless
mortal buffoons
whose big words and
cold little hands
didn’t keep me alive any longer than it took
for you to see me a scant minutes
after hours of shivering
in your waiting rooms
I leave you all the happy prize
of my death
at your incapable hands
The ‘I’ in this piece is not me. It goes back several years & is filtered through my own experience working in the HIV community & also from hearing how patients in general were treated. It seemed rather than indulge in false hope the medical community was more confident in indulging in false despair.
Sadly some of these things go on – patients who ask the wrong questions are apt get sedated into quiet acceptance. Specialists spend more time researching their statistical reports than they do actually seeing their patients.
I did hear a talk given by a specialist whose tie fabric was of ‘germs woven into a colourful abstract designs.’ He was very pleased with it in fact. I suppose it was his way of distancing himself from what these germs did – see how pretty they are. I wondered if he’d consider having a sweet kaposi tattooed to show off as proudly.
I remember performing it for the first time at The Rant at the Cafe May on Roncesvalles. Sue G ran the this funky series out there, one of the open stages first I began to go to before I discovered things closer to home. But I kept going to it till she moved on to other things.
very smart
Reblogged this on TOpoet.