Taking Stock
A Poem
I hate the noise my stomach makes
in the morning, my intestines
a squealing colostomy. It’s a sign
of age, like the obscene length
of my eyelashes. I cut them down
to twenty-five years old,
flayed and scattered in the sink.
Clip my nails to sand, razor my skin
for another hospital gown.
Drop the blade and let this beard
grow, prickly bone quills
that drive back affection.
I can no longer raise a hand
above my head, no hailing or waving,
a button push like drip instead.
I hide my stained shirts under the sheets,
a ploy to mislead the doctors,
their dismissal telling me what not to do,
opposite the manual, a sequence
of IKEA numbers for human assembly,
an outline of sharp tools that ask,
what’s next in your grand life?
©️ Trapper Markelz 2024
If you enjoyed this poem, please consider my book Childproof Sky, a 2023 Cherry Dress Chapbooks selection. Available now!
