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.

About Bartholomew Barker

Bartholomew Barker is one of the organizers of Living Poetry, a collection of poets and poetry lovers in the Triangle region of North Carolina. Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he makes money as a computer programmer to fund his poetry habit.
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9 Responses to Prescription

  1. Lisa Tomey says:

    Darn side effects! Good job of punching that stubborn foil.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. 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!

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Cassa Bassa says:

    Sharp analogy

    Liked by 2 people

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