Little white desk, little white lies A purple plastic replica of a human heart Hinged to open for explanation, a heart that never beats “Moon River” drifting from the ceiling.
Nurse Sandy, dressed in paisley scrubs Checks my vitals, consults my chart Touches my hand, her hand a feather Does she know I’m about to get bad news? Is she touching a dead man’s hand? No, she says her heart’s been broken Her partner vanished, a sunrise surprise He’s taken the dog , the Wellbutrin, the blender Now the majesty of sobs, the whisper of apology.
Dr. Dan enters the room, tan leather loafers aglow Doctor’s cologne, a professional smile 4.3 stars, often a long wait, rude staff Stethoscope dangling, ignoring Sandy’s heart For mine, listening to the churning of my heart Nothing has changed so keep up the meds Feed the heart the blue, the red, the yellow.
The plastic heart wants to open up, for Sandy. My heart murmurs its message: can’t be fixed But Sandy’s can. Dr. Dan is gone, co-pay then I’m out. In the cave of the heart, we are all on our knees.
Gordon W. Mennenga grew up in a small Iowa town and has worked as a field hand, a truck driver, a wedding singer, a high school English teacher, and a college professor of creative writing and film studies. Publications include work in Jabberwock Literary Review, North American Review, South 85, Epoch, and Hamilton Stone Review. He made his first appearance on Spotify last year. Gordon’s work has been featured on National Public Radio and produced by the Riverside Theatre Company.