Doctor's Orders Poem by Robin Bennett

The doctors in their starched and pressed
white coats run this unstable floor where
the mentally ill congregate. Not willingly
of course. Just a drift off course and
you land here. Doctor's orders.

A true hodgepodge disorders to chose
from here. You've got the standard
naked Jesus impersonators, the ones
known as the shuffle and muffle crew
not to be outdone by the girl who believes
she is being remotely controlled from
Saudi Arabia. Nice, all I have is the
garden variety depression. I'm a
low level priority here.

What fun it is when they rifle through your
belongings. Got to watch out for those
dangerous items. She tells me "sorry, you
can't have this shampoo, it contains alcohol."
You must be kidding! You think I would drink
an entire bottle of bubbles on the off chance
I don't vomit for hours and get a bit of a buzz?
Excuse me, but I can keep my razor? So
you don't want me getting high, but cutting and
suicide are permitted? Again, I wonder what fool
thought up these rules.

Next time, I'm keeping my big depressed
mouth shut! Happy as a clam from now
on. When the doctor asks, thats my story
and I'm sticking to it.