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We're all night in the pharmacy
lit by lightning through plate glass.
We're surrounded by
thunder-rattled pill bottle shelves.
We're with all the cures
side by side
while dodging the loud, gray threats.
You hold my hand
like that's what stops it flooding.
You get so close to me
it's like administering
first aid.
What do you want, your kisses say?
Clariton? Prozac? Albuterol?
The weather feels like
it's breaking in.
The good can come in a capsule,
an inhaler, a nasal spray.
The near-deaths, the disillusions,
strike the earth
at a hundred miles an hour,
threaten to tear off the roof.
Small reprieves
balance on the tongue,
are injected where
fists clench,
veins tighten and rise.
What do you want to ask me
as the glass breaks,
the ceiling collapses.
Love? Respect? Honor?
The pharmacy of the heart
shatters all around us.
You say take three
storms a day
and come see me
if there's a morning.
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