Shrink

I am not going to raise your meds today.
You can calm down,
you’re not listening.
You’re pulsating,
your brain is touching the window.

I won’t let you raise my meds today.

I told you I’m not raising your meds today.
Your illness is showing,
it must be showing all the time.

The chair is bigger than I am.
His bulging eyes
and prescription pad
a mallet
waiting to knock me out.

You’re not changing my meds today.

I told you I’m not changing them.
What if you take a little more in the morning?
What if you lose your job?
What if your marriage crumbles?

You’re not changing my meds today.

I told you I’m not changing them.
I could silence you,
so you could relax.
Aren’t you exhausted,
doesn’t your brain
long to sit still.

You’re not changing my meds today.

His grip tightens
on the pen used
to suck someone’s personality
out through their nose.

I’ll keep it the same for now,
think it over.

Accept your brain,
shrink it.
Come back next month.
Learn to
go to sleep
like the good girl I know you are.

 

 

***

Nina Belen Robins is a poet and supermarket employee. She lives with her husband and cats and can be found at Ninabelenrobins.com

 

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