DAY 10, POEM 10: STILL LIFE WITH ANTIDEPRESSANTS

In a city where everybody and his brother
(well, not my brother, but somebody's)
has a Dr. Feelgood or two on call to keep
life down to one long manageable atrocity
I am gifted with a very understanding but
somewhat ineffectual-seeming Dr. Meh
who knows that I know that there is no
magic pill in a locked Halliburton suitcase
he's been saving as a last resort he thinks
I'm doing fine on the meds he's currently
prescribed and some days I agree but not
all sadly and anyway how complex is any
of this shit really "Look people go through
stuff all the time: anger frustration broken
shoe laces disappointment vending machines
that gyp you out of the right change I get
all that I just happen to hate myself" He
nods thoughtfully at my exasperation and
says "I know and we have to find out why"
I think - but don't say - why not?