Saturday, April 20, 2013

Poem: Prozac in the Water

It seems like a poetry kind of day.

Prozac in the Water

They should just put Prozac in the water supply,
you say, but I shake my head.
The water would be so bitter.
It would taste like the insides of mental institutions,
like Belleview, McLean,
like ECT and strait jackets and quiet rooms.
It would taste like walls painted hospital-green,
like paper slippers and gowns that open in the back.
Cold sheet packs and insulin shock and trans-orbital lobotomies.
The city couldn’t swallow it, I say.

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