Prescription
Let’s rip the foil off this new year
like an unopened bottle of pills—
stumbling for the too small tab
along the sticky edges
until I just jam my fat thumb
through it in frustration.
Pluck the cotton— bright as the full moon
and throw it in the overflowing trash.
What use is cotton now that Christmas
has passed and Saturn is on the far side
of the sun? Dawn comes earlier every day
but the cold is getting settled in the earth.
I double-check the warning label—
alcohol is contraindicated for hope.
For this week’s Living Poetry Prompt.
Bartholomew Barker, Poet 
Darn side effects! Good job of punching that stubborn foil.
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Thanks! Sometimes it’s not worth being subtle.
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I was a little bleh about it, the first time I read this poem, then I read it properly, and now I love it. It always pays to read a poem more than just once!
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Many thanks! I’m honored that you gave it another chance.
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I’m glad I did that too. The reader’s mindset at a particular time, is a part of how a poem, or other piece of Art may be seen …
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Totally agree. Whenever anyone asks what a poem of mine means, I always tell them that I have no idea. I’m only the poet.
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Humble is a fine mindset for a poet to hold! Life is our wondrous palette, we merely place the colours as we feel they best go.
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Sharp analogy
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Ha! Thanks!
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