An Earache 



Why does every waiting room feels
the same?. The musty smell in the
early morning. The alcohol vapors,
freed from the hard to seal bottle.
The piles of magazines on the table.
Address labels peeled to conceal.
Where do they come from?. The 
chairs against the papered walls.
Two worlds separated by a door. 
The patient kingdom at one, the 
doctor's at the other. Who will pay?,
is always the question. Your life is
free but to keep on the fight, you 
must pay. The deafening sound of
my earache grows louder. The
receptionist looks over the counter
and says to me; Dr. Kevorkian will
see you now.