nothing but real

nothing but real

A Poem by Philip Gaber


She was in her chair, secured, sedated, colorless.

“This whole thing seems small,”
she said softly with her breath,
then showed me the creases in her elbows.
“Heat rash… itches…”

I smiled at her.

“Your teeth are not that straight,” she said.“Not too white, either…

Don’t you think you’d feel much

I shook my head.

“Why not?” she said.

“I’m not that interested in my teeth,” I said.

“I had an uncle that never brushed his teeth,” she said.

“Doctor said plaque got into his bloodstream, causing him to have a stroke… You believe that?”

“Anything’s possible,” I said.

She stared at the wall for about five minutes, then fell off to sleep,
holding the geegaw someone had given her
to help her remind her of her personality.

When I left the ward, I crossed the street
went into an ill-lit barrelhouse and sat
in the corner under a photograph of
a smiling, toothless hermit.

 A short, narrow-eyed woman with a
soft-lined face approached me.

“What can I get for you tonight, sweetie?” she said.

“A gin sling,” I said.

“Mm, no one's ordered a gin sling in years,” she said. “What’s the occasion?”

I looked up at the smiling hermit,
then at the woman.

“Just trying to glue someone back together,” I said

The waitress nodded as if she understood completely.

“Well, good luck with that,” she said and left.

I glanced at the photograph one last time and resolved to stand by her through all of her hallucinations.

© 2024 Philip Gaber


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Added on June 19, 2024
Last Updated on June 19, 2024

Author

Philip Gaber
Philip Gaber

Charlotte, NC



About
I hate writing biographies. I was one of those kids who rode a banana seat bike and watched Saturday morning cartoons and Soul Train. But my mother would never buy any of those sugary cereals for us k.. more..

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