and the smell of rubbing
alcohol. Rows of beds and
machines that beep. How does
a young boy

with such noise sleep? Tubes
in throat, arms and legs. This
is how we live every day. Paging doctor
so and so with a color code. Stuffed

monkey from the gift shop
lays propped up on the blanket. She hasn’t
tanked yet. But she’s on her way. Looking out
the window into the smog. Eying people

rushing off in a fog, all unaware
of her sleeping in a chair. A scream from
the room next door. Yesterday’s apple
core turning brown. A visit from the circus clown.