POPPIES
 

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I think they’re supposed to be
opium poppies

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but the abstract art in Dermatology
looks like an angry cluster

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of pimples. I’ve stopped picking
the basal cells beneath

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my wide-rimmed garden hat, the long
white sleeves of my shirt.

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There’s a little boy with mom
and a bad sunburn beside me.

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He’s playing with a rubber shark
that swallows his pinky finger.

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I’m watching his tiny digits walk
across the cushion toward – What

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do you think they’ll remove today?
The poppies blister in anticipation.

 

 

First publication: Turk's Head Review, July 2016