Finally without recourse
we bring our illness to room 500
first door on the right
the ice chips and red jello
canned peaches and needles taped to bruised arms,
tubes and mechanical beds,
and the little squares (metallic paper envelopes
that held antiseptic wipes)
float to the floor
confetti and IV drip cocktails
testify to the irony of body.
we breathe in
antibacterials and meatball stew on rice.
shall we dance and breathe out?