Final destination, final revelation by my dear
kind physiotherapist; why he didn’t give me
exercises resulting in remonstrations at my
recalcitrance to move my imprisoned foot
freely about, to pirouette and waltz
Being haughtily informed of thrombosis, sent
home with dire warnings about laziness - but
right now it seems so unnecessary, left alone
I’ll wiggle my toes in the air, dance my feet on
the wall, walk everywhere - still sulking
Because medical people dare to launch attack
after attack while I parry their blows quietly like
a lamb dumbstruck at being led to slaughter -
total mental disappearance sounds attractive
right now, becoming a sad musical theme
[3 October 2014]
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