Mad Was 'I', But 'You' Poem by James McLain

Mad Was I, But You
and balmy salve on that cut.
Rolls and rolls of gauze, I replace
Sunday morning when it opens, I look.
Letting you squeeze it out of the tube,
antibiotics,
I must rub the wound, day in and day out.
Deep is the cut, close your eyes and lie still.

It is only in your mind, I try to explain
as your thoughts I carried out
of your mind.
Was it I,
Did I,
Was I the cause, of your decline.
I can help, let me help you up and please be nice.
Listen now,
here comes the doctor.
Here she comes.
She is here.

I was 'mad', but you.
All about you, inside and out.
I brush your soft hair,
I kiss you there.
When I lay awake daring the day.

You will like the new psychiatrist.
She smells of,
oranges and apples.
She orders the liniment,
I spread on you.
Some what chilly, the linoleum floor.
The distance is short to the gurney.