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A Surgical Procedure

The surgeon has been to my hospital bed, explaining
the procedure, a small elegant man with quick hand
movements and a shock of wavy hair; yet none of
the nurses surrounding him looked impressed, perhaps
they knew something I didn’t, a thought that gave me
a perverse delight. Perhaps he wore a wig too?

I was reading poetry, when they gave me a blue pill,
continued to read, but when I awoke twelve hours had
gone, the surgeon, in his Armani suit, looked down,

smiled satisfied and left. I hated him. It worried me
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