Every time my pills fall, I feel very much like an addict
Rachel B. Glaser

when they scatter, it is disapproving
they dance on hardwood
they rest on carpet

it is maddening to spill pills across a restaurant floor
children clap
women are exhilarated
I want to lie on my rug and self-reflect
but my hair goes limp
I am late for the train

spilling pills makes me feel like I have a stressful, high-profile job
that I really have no time to pick up anything
I have too many young kids
the landline is crammed between my cheek and shoulder
like a sex addict
like I have a shoplifting problem
or I’ve borrowed people’s kids
despised people’s pets
impulsively pulled the fire alarm
I have denounced my enemies on television
I have seduced my daughter’s boyfriend
I have read my husband’s diary

I want to be calm
I wish I could appreciate humor/nature

I feel like an addict when I arrive late to a dinner party
when I eat at Brueger’s during certain times of day
when I find myself drawn to big jewelry, and basements

and one of the pills is at least three years old
it crumbles in the breeze
it is held together barely

it is a Valium
it probably doesn’t work

I feel like a horder when I see the Valium
like somehow somewhere I have held onto all my hair

also, I think it’s sort of corporate when a cell phone rings in public
I feel hapless eating pizza

like I’m drunk if I park weird

whenever I see someone with a prescription pill bottle
I assume they are insane
they are fried
very dangerous

if I see someone yelling at a bus driver
or in a park by themselves

if their hair takes up the wrong kind of space

if I see someone walking anywhere near a highway
or if someone closes their eyes on a subway

I see an elderly lady with a sunburn
or a grown animal crying

I look away and then I look longer

if I see someone take a pill in public I am visibly uncomfortable
if I am in the elevator with one person
forget it

I feel rebellious when rejecting my cable company
I ignore policemen and eat at the salad bar
I drop electronics in water

a child in a store is hostile to me

I always thought if I shaved my head I would suddenly become adventurous
and have more friends
I’d be able to sculpt or at least be musical

I wouldn’t be afraid
I would look younger and more troubled
I’d crash at someone’s house or they would crash here
my hair would inch out and I’d have a choice

I think if I grew it very long, I’d make money
I would have to go swimming all the time

it would be like a fur and babies would grab it
I would laugh and leaves would rustle
and this would all be in the sunshine

unless it was a failing ponytail
like I had been too stubborn in my style
and it had crusted over

but really the ponytail is a good one
it is rural
and aural
people see me and think I cook well
if I don’t have children, someone encourages me to
out of curiosity
I smile and take a pill
if I have a runny nose
or aches and pains
if I don’t have to drive anywhere
if it’s a weekend and
no one is free
I go for the Valium
but it laughs itself into dust
like it’s exhausted
like it’s gone extinct
like it’s anti-drugs