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bob, the intake guy

Penelope Talbert

bob is surprised that i’m anxious
��fifty-five minutes holding on the “emergency” help line
i could have swallowed and digested a bottle full of
pills i’ve been saving
in case my last cry for help
didn’t work
��it’s hard to justify a voicemail message
as a cry for help
��hard to feel
insured
assured
when bob tells me
that i have six visits this year to become sane
��six visits
��six fifteen minute medication maintenance visits
one every eight weeks to make me
��not crazy
are you suicidal? bob croons
the frank sinatra of my mental health
yeah, i tell him, i’ve been passing the days
and nights (insomnia)
carrying a cornucopia of
pinks and greens and whites
lithium, prozac, trazadone
up - down - steady
��left over from the last bob
bright yellow caffeine pills
200 milligrams of fun
making rainbows on my hand
��in my head
reeling from the concerned phone calls
but bob’s not concerned
��he schedules me
for six weeks from now
��six weeks
��forty-two days
��one thousand eight hours
bob is the poster boy of managed healthcare
health uncaring
��and i know bob is talking about me
after i terminate his singsong
hey bob, i’m crazy
��nuts
��loony
can you spare an appointment?
spare a coffin perhaps?
i think i’d take a standard size
��nothing fancy
i now hate bob
bob my enemy
��my nemesis
��the man standing between me and health
��between sanity and death
and i want to kill him
and chop him into bite size pieces
so i can swallow him
with the rest of my rainbow



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