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Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
It wasn’t until this evening while I was sitting
in the hospital lobby watching blood pour from 
underneath my chair from the women behind me
waiting for my name to be murmured over the loud speaker
that I witnessed the depths our society is willing to go.

Directly across from me was Gertrude, I don’t think
that was her real name, but that’s what I called her Cyclops pouch 
that was playing peek-a-boo with the 5 month old child bouncing 
on her knee. The mother’s arms (if you could call her that) were 
as holy as a tree after a woodpecker has established residency 
and as blue as the vessels that carry blood to her heart. Maybe 
the doctors will show her how to properly insert a needle when 
she goes behind the curtain wall. 

To my left were the Espinoza’s, a family of five,
maybe six, there was a boy playing in the parking garage by a van
with a rock, he was waving it around like a wand.
The wife was the one having problems, she does not remember
them, even if she did, she couldn’t say them.
It was as if I was watching a 2 year old communicate with no teeth desperately trying to 
pronounce words that start with “S” or “F” 
At least she was trying. 
They couldn’t find their insurance card, she couldn’t 
remember where she put it. She looked at her translator for assistance but 
he was to busy rocking their child to sleep. 

In the corner were the Muses, it did not seem like there was 
anything wrong, as if their son or daughter dropped them off
hoping for something to happen to inherit the family fortune. 
I think they were really there to oversee the moral of the lobby, contracted out by the hospital staff to amuse 
and entertain frustrated numbers,
because that’s all we are, numbers on a chart board, names on a wristband, like cattle tagged by the ear. 
Jean was the older one; she had toes like crochet hooks, crossing over and looped,
Gladdys was younger, wearing a green jumpsuit with a gold Greek Key belt,
she looked like a dried out Christmas tree on the street leaning beside the trash cans after New Years. 

It was in the corner of my eye that I saw 
a sheer bit of hope for our World. Jean leaned over to the father, 
slipped money between the paint on his hands 
and the babies bottom and said,
	You have a beautiful family.
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