Here’s a short little poem I wrote the other day, after my latest consultation with my doc.
At the Driver’s License Bureau
Yesterday the doctor said
we’ve beat you up pretty bad,
but if we stop treatment now
you have three months.
The transplants are risky
and it’s going to be hard on you,
very hard, but its your only chance.
Certain death in a few months
or one chance in three of a cure
if you survive the procedures.
Today, I sit amongst young men
with nose rings, gangly teenage girls
and young Hispanic couples,
waiting to renew my driver’s license
for another five years.
Oh Michael, nothing like the DMV to put things into perspective. Great short poem that packs such complicated emotions! Hugs.
2013 was my year to renue, so I spent a day in Feb at the Oakland DMV, an experience displaying the unadulterated diversity of humanity, but was completely unworthy of a poem . . . . . .
Ah, Glenn, all experience holds the seed of art within. If not a poem about the CA DMV, how about a country song?
Everything is thrown into such sharp relief. You are strong, my friend, the sort of godfather my daughter is lucky to have.