drugs

^{after Marie Howe}

Last night, the boy—
                                   you’ve already grieved—crawls 
                                        
                  through the window
                                                                  of who you once were
              & whispers,
                                              Listen. Listen.

                                    Ten years off heroin and he’s still here.

              You say no—not 
                                                            again—so it feels like a power
                                                            against your will
                                              holds the flame
                     under the bent spoon

    & pulls closer your last breath
                                                       of good sense.

        A sweet sweet hum begins                                   as he stops
           
the constellation bleeding                    from the pale crook

      of your arm with a kiss
                                                knowing you would oblige this
        oblivion                           this strange song

            growing loud & lovely               louder & lovelier

til’ you’re nothing
                                    but the warmth
                                                                  of life’s slippery goodnight—
         hovering above yourself
                                                            you find the boy splashing
                through puddles,
                                                        it’s charming the way he calls you
          to the edge—
                                 Again! he says, taking your hand,
                                                                                                  but you beg him to stop.    

Ah’m sick, doctor-man, Ah’m sick!
Gi’ me some’n to he’p me quick.
    Don’t— Ah’ll die!

Tried mighty hard fo’ to cure mahse’f;
Tried all dem t’ings on de pantry she’f;
Couldn’t fin’ not’in’ a-tall would do.
    An’ so Ah sent fo’ you,

“Wha’d Ah take? “Well, le’ me see:
Firs’—horhound drops an’ catnip tea;
Den rock candy soaked in rum,
An’ a good sized chunk o’ camphor gum;
Next Ah tried was castor oil.

An’ snakeroot tea brought to a boil;
Sassafras tea fo’ to clean mah blood;
But none o’ dem t’ings didn’ do no good.
Den when home remedies seem to shirk,
Dem pantry bottles was put to work:

Blue-mass, laud-num, liver pills,
“Sixty-six, fo’ fever an’ chills,”
Ready Relief, an’ A. B. C.,
An’ half a bottle of X. Y. Z.
An’ sev’al mo’ Ah don’t recall,
Dey nevah done no good at all.
Mah appetite begun to fail;
Ah fo’ced some clabber, about a pail,
Fo’ mah ol’ gran’ma always said
When yo’ can’t eat you’re almost dead.

So Ah got scared an’ sent for you.—
Now, doctor, see what you c’n do.
Ah’m sick, doctor-man. Gawd knows Ah’m sick!
Gi’ me some’n to he’p me quick,
    Don’t—Ah’ll die!