Crammed in Cork

June 24, 2012

           Without insurance or a reason why a reddish rash was spreading around my right forearm, I knew it would be a shitty day. After a cab ride to a walk in medical facility in Cork City it got worse. The following poem describes what ensued in the waiting room. (What the doctor thought was a spider bite is almost healed two weeks later.)

Bitten

A square room with fluorescent lights

reflects off the tiled stripes.
Locals slouched in plastic chairs,

sink below the musty air.

Slamming doors, a child humming,

distracts my mind from what is coming.
Just above, static sings
from pin-sized holes spilling broken rings.

A plastic cup drops, a baby screams for safety,

the mothers mumbled words are far too hasty.

Almost an hour and surely time,

for these minutes to reverse their crime.

“Kevin O’Sullivan! Jared Kelly!”

Names that mark Irish Delis.

A diagnosis, a mystery cause,

anything to escape these walls.

I've lost the road, found dark rock bottom,

loss of all happiness I’ve found so common.

There's nothing more that I can say

If only I could end this rhyme.