Poetry
Psalm of Sickness
Paul Dilsaver
My doc is my savior, I shall not die.
He makes me lie down in white bedsheets.
He drains from me stale waters.
He restores my cells.
He bleeds me in excessive lab work for his bill's sake.
Yea though I crawl toward the vacuum of a freshly dug grave,
I fear no evil for doc art with me,
thy prod and thy scope
they comfort me.
Thou preparest a bland tray before me
in the presence of my maladies,
thou anointest my growing boils.
My bladder overflows.
Surely collection agents shall bankrupt me
all the days of my life;
and I shall dwell on the ward
of the damned forever.