Sedated

Spending a work day
in psychological jail,
waiting for the pill.

The magical pill,
the pill curing the mental
break deep within him.

The thin man from the
night before wanders around
rather aimlessly.

He searches for black
sludge like an addict searches
for a strong eight-ball.

Breaking into a
random vocabulary
and odd hand gestures.

Of course, crazy comes
in divergent flavors, not
just some boilerplate.

But, the pretty folks
look like cook'd geese under glass,
inside a small cage.

But the wristband with
the bar code says otherwise,
he is the inmate.

Voluntary, of
course, since the mental specter
just will not relent.

He feels sedated,
because harm is not the prime
directive at all.

The other patients
sit sedated in front of
the idiot box.

Joey and the punk
brothers would either be so
proud or just ashamed.

The coffee cup drain'd,
an intravenous drip is
not available.

He might have to grind
somebody's gears to get some
more, and time still flows.

And the staff will see
it at some point, another
chance will soon come up.

An environ of
thousand-yard stares and silent
meals, the top level.

Sylvia's oven
had natural gas, but he
wants to stay alive.