We,
the uninsured
being inured to this,
the will of gods.
Our lives doled out in tablet form
from birth to breath by those pharmacists
with death proscribed,
prescription wise.

My eyes have seen the crookedness that shake
foundations,
three times a day we pray again to all the gods
to open up and swallow pills and god just nods
his head,agrees that we need medications.

The ***** top bottle throttles me
but I am strangled happily by those 'dolls'
the greens and reds of fol de rols
a plague on gaudiness unless instructions say,
take the pills three times a day.

These games we play, I'll say,
are just a side event,a small diversion to prevent us
from ever having to face the facts,
but we're inured to that and so,
on and on and on we go until the end is reached.

I plead,
just one more pill,
it appears that this is not the will of god or any pharmacist,
I missed the last bus home,but home is hell and
so that's just as well.
I wait in the wings to see
what tomorrow brings.