montreal general

You notice the walls, now stained with plaque
no janitor could scrub off. Emergency has cops.
You’re here to be healed, instead you’re being questioned,
observed as you take your number and sit.

The chairs are ripped, foam popping out like guts
from olive green fabric in fashion when your mother was young.
The nurse, skin like a baked potato scrubbed clean, no name tag,
forgets she took your blood pressure and does it again.

It takes 3 tries before the IV makes it to your vein,
this is how your sister’s strawberry pin cushion feels.
Your meal is cold soup with carrots and macaroni noodles.
Your blood is cold soup with carrots and macaroni noodles.

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