Three Pink Pills
There's a plastic bag filled with pills
sitting on the kitchen counter.
mostly white
but some
red
blue
pink
and even dark green ones
scattered in between.
My wife, dear one, tells me that
no one should be bound to
so many pills. I smile and nod
knowing I won't stop taking them.
She thinks it's so easy to quit
She thinks stopping is a choice.
She thinks I know this-
but I know better.
The doctor prescribed them,
I offer with little conviction
(as if some sort of act of contrition)
She seems to think that this
make a sort of sense.
But I know better.
There's silence and a tall glass residing on the kitchen table;
I lift it somewhat unsteadily
to my lips, taking three pink pills.
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