Morgan Michaels Poems

His primary'.

'He has a primary'?
...

'Just diabetes', he coughed.

'For how long'?
...

'And now in...'

He was ready.
...

Closing the chart, Donnie made it clear the session was through.

'So, please come back when you get the x-ray', he advised.
...

'Sometimes, life was fair', thought Donnie, 'but mostly it wasn't'.

Waiting on the platform for the 5 train, uptown. He gave his thought the once-over. Satisfied, he began a second.
...

'I keep my membership up. For old times sake'.

'Exactly! So do I', she admitted, clapping once.
...

At the mention of the name, Donnie felt comfortably assured he was talking to a member of his own generation- his intellectual generation- the generation to which all others must be compared. Of her physical time-niche he was fairly sure, already. It was important. Between the generations- the biologic ones, that is- there is a gulf as wide as that between Dives and Lazarus, nigh impossible to cross or understand. One never feels really comfortable among the members of any generation but one's own, ultimately. Not really.

'But I'm going to visit a sick friend in Inwood- never was there, before. Is this the right way?
...

'I know'.

'We could visit Le Bagneur.
...

Never take tips from your rivals: Discretely
they'll stress your faults and diss your merits;
Nor take solace from supporters:
they'll offer praise when none is due
...

One ring. Two, three. The phone rang and rang.

Donnie was indisposed.
...