“I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.”
–Robert Frost,
“Acquainted with the Night”
they have decorated everything
with boredom. The walls are made
of brick ennui and the carpets are Saxony
apathy and the doors are an impressive
fiberglass weariness. The vet next to me
has trouble sitting, so he stands. The vet
next to him has trouble standing, so he sits.
I have trouble too. So does the room.
The room went through rehab, but it didn’t help.
I look at the two other vets. I think about
the word hero and then I think about the word
hat and then I think about a bunch of other stuff
and before I know it, the door opens up
and someone loudly mispronounces my name.