The Hospital Was Great, The Landscape Was Fake

 

Look at this place. The manicured lawn

reeks of overexposure and the trees

are only deposited pawns.

The land is flat like a piece of bread, not

even a crumb on the wayside; though

fresh lively birds still fill the screen. Only heard once

or twice, then gone.

A wimpy serpentine path spindles

among the grass, fake tranquility

rings the alarm: we’re all loopy!

 

Yes, I know where I’m going.

You don’t have to tell me so.

Yes, it’s been a long time coming.

You don’t have to remind me so.

 

I’ve had enough of your sass. I know

where we are. The old gothic mansions,

bricked and lingering, are covered

with walking Positive Affirmations. Primary colored

construction paper –specifically,

cardinal red, calming blue, and canary yellow —

worksheets and puzzles galore, gray and dark gray

striped rugs lay beneath our feet, emphasizing

the solidarity and fidgets in our wake. Sleep

deprived patients slumped throughout the room;

talking is encouraged, but won’t appear til noon. The

activities are transparent composures of our time, reinforcing

old ideas already in my mind.

 

Time ticks slowly, each minute

a question: Who are you?

Are you eating enough? Sleeping enough?

Do you feel safe enough to go home?

How am I supposed to know if I’m still here, and

y’know, not home?

At least here I can go home,

Treated like an equal, not an adult

at daycare-prison. Though both hospitals

have puzzles, word searches, and boardgames; I

still have my journal, Puppy, and a set schedule.

 

I don’t have a schedule at home.

I’m glued to the ground, floating into the fog

overlapping in space.

To avoid it, I take a nap,

so I can be glued to the fog and float into the ground,

separated from space;

wake up.

 

The car ride to and from home is just as

key, slowing down at speed bumps and pausing

at crossroads, reading the signs to accept

the upcoming. Chit chatting in the car

is revealing all by its own:

God said, “This isn’t worth it.”

Thank god, I’m agnostic.

But the landscape, the fucking landscape,

is a sedative

ready to explode.