a poem by Jason L. Huskey (2 of 2)
Topics Of Discussion
she says we'll do it together --
one tablet at a time, confessing
a sin for each sin. I count them,
twenty-one Hail Marys apiece;
I only have one confession to make.
slipping the sleeping pill inside
and down. "I'm depressed," she says.
I wait for the reason; soon realizing
that is the whole of her concession.
Something's giving it away.
grabbing a dose and confessing
my recent bout of constipation,
instead slapping hellfire into her
upturned palm, pills flying in the crying,
treating her like the art professor
who turned her Bi for two semesters,
and begging her to grow the hell up.