Doxycycline, Ciprofloxacin, Ranitidine — the names remind me of distant stars whose light I will never see or else just what they are, wishes instead of cures. The doctor sticks a gloved finger up my ass with one quick motion. Not quick enough. It is cold with jelly, like the finger of an alien, an … Continue reading
Fall 2009 / Issues / Poetry 2009 / Volume 40