My experience with diabetics.

Four Girls on the Needle

First there was my grandmother
She shot up in the kitchen
Using a stainless steel needle
That lived in a black leather case
With a red satin lining.
I sat on her lap
In a rocking chair
And she taught me how
To twiddle my thumbs,
A skill that has
Consoled me through
Many hours of waiting.

We were maybe thirteen?
She looked like Haley Milles
The Disney heartthrob of the age.
She asked me over to her house
Which sat at the end
Of my paper route
She showed me her pet
She showed me
The barn
And in the barn
She lifted her shirt
And injected herself.
Even at thirteen I knew
There was no future
In it.

The girl in the stall
Next to mine
Is beautiful and young
And smart, very smart.
If I were thirty I would
Try and fuck her
As it is
I just watch her
And ache.
One day she
She preps her needle
And shoots into her belly
The hard steel needle piercing
Warm white flesh
It makes me hard
To see it.

Then there is my wife
A woman who takes her meds
With a swig of coke.
And says to me
As she preps her
Insulin injection,
"If it's cancer,
Well it could be worse
The end for a diabetic
Isn't pretty."

Poetry by Budart
Read 929 times
Written on 2012-08-17 at 19:23

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