Trapped in a five by seven foot room
on the seventh floor.
The average twin bed is enough
and the larger lady dressed in white scrubs
always makes me use my mouth muscles to smile,
more like showing off my slobbery retainer
Hanging out of my rotten mouth.
Out my window I see the tennis court
In my mind I picture the racket in my hand
Playing around with my buddies.
It's noon, which means
Time for torture.
The large nice lady shoves me out of my comforters,
Throws me onto a walker
And I am forced to scramble down through
The long hallway, to the crowd of people
Munching away the smelly globs on the paper plates.
Lost my appetite
I go wobble back to my room
Situate myself to get at least 4 hours of sleep.
The next day
The routine begins again, and again
Until the time comes