Medically Prescribed Poem by Kewayne Wadley

I sat down with a bottle of pills.
Prescribed by some doctor whom barely passed the bar.
When asked what kind of pills they were, he nodded and agreed that they were suppose to relive the pain.
I assured him that there was no pain, but he insisted that they would work.
Frustrated, I took the pills and left.
Odd shaped little white pills. A bit larger than the normal ones he'd prescribe.
The description on the bottle was vague, reading my name and to take one a day.
Almost if commanding me. Bold italic text. Stupid orange medicine tube.
I figured that if the doctor couldn't tell me. That I would ask the pills.
They remained silent. Staring back at me. The molding of a philosopher sitting still.
I figured what's the worse that could happen, no one else seemed to care.
I grabbed a glass from the kitchen and filled it with water, proceeding to take the pills as instructed.
In the midst of taking the pill. The phone rang, sending my heart to my stomach.
In the midst of swallowing, the pill got stuck in my throat.
The phone continued to ring, while on the other hand I'm struggling trying to reach my hand over my back. Any other time the pill would have come back up.
Nothing seemed to work, the pill was lodged deep in my throat. Water running from my mouth.
While I lay there struggling. Trying to cough the pill up. The answering machine picks up
and it's the doctor telling me I have the wrong pills, to bring them back, soon as possible