Trouble Poem by The Poet SPIEL

like it's a sacrifice
they heat you
one small soup—
lukewarm—
to save on propane.

they count
your fund-sapping
rainbow of meds

then complain
how you stay
the same.

you recall easter
when they lipsticked
your defeated lips
trying to fake
your kiss as human.

as they depart
your fetid atmosphere
they expect you not to hear
that you have become an inconvenience.

_____The Poet SPIEL