Post Traumatic Stress Revisited

How am I supposed to judge that this has been
A good day, not a bad one, when they're so alike?
On good ones, like today, I don't get shocked.
I stride with half-forgotten confidence up flights
Of stairs. I clean the house and get the mail,
And never see my heartbeat wander up toward
The no man's land, but I can't take my eyes too
Long from that device that's on my wrist to tell
Me how my heart is doing. It and the defibrillator
Are the judges of the day. I'm just the subject,
Just the shattered rat who walks a wired maze,
Who, even on a day like this, a good one by most
Measures, was too terrified of what might happen
If I stepped into the shower to turn on the water.
I just dressed, and rushed away.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 87 times
Written on 2017-06-07 at 02:45

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