living under constant scrutiny
at the most unwelcome times.
In a stolen moment of
private reverie,
walking out & back on
Old Granite Pier,
I practice saying aloud
a new poem that twists my tongue.
Salt & mist thick in the air,
I do it for no one but myself
& the grey coastal sky.
Gleefully, I climb into the car
fully believing I have managed to
sculpt a moment's peace apart.
Until the query practicing adolescent lilt,
"What were you saying out there?"
They say that Mellaril calms aggressive tendencies,
that Haldol quiets those pesky voices inside the head.
Fortunately I need no psychotropic drug:
my ever-present children are
reliable quashers of sweet delusions.
(cc) Karen G. Johnston
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