So, it turns out that
the people who I thought were tormenting me
might not have been thinking of me at all.
You see, evidently there’s double talk on purpose
and there’s double talk on accident.

But someone at the pharmacy
did make some demonic marks upon my Ativan bottle.
Right when I was thinking I was ready
to go for the rest of my life unscathed.
People are checking me out, there’s color in my face,
I’m free to go back to being a beatnik.
Just a little trip to United Provisions to get some diet soda
is a grand and miraculous adventure.
I don’t need any of that old saturnine bullshit.

Well, I called my pharmacy, I just had to.
“Why are people making marks upon my Ativan,” I asked.
“Oh, that’s just to confirm the pills were counted
twice,” a benign presence said. “Because they’re a controlled
substance.” Well, damn! I guess that weight’s gone.
But please, please, Ladylove, when you read this
please know that I am radically changing.