Jason Shinder’s “Hospital”

Jason Shinder (1955-2008)



While the machine sucks the black suds

from my mother’s blood then sends it back

stinking clean into the pistol-tube nailed down

into her chest, I climb out of my shoes and slip

a cotton swab of water between her teeth,

her dentures sliding off the back porch

of her mouth.  Nobody knows, never knows,

how she has to pee, wrapped in a diaper.

But can’t.  The yellow eggs she ate one hour ago

already the shit in her bowels.  And lonely,

head-hanging-from-the-balcony-of-her-body lonely,

darkest-passage-from-the-hairless-vagina lonely.

But brave.  But lonely.  Because I did not stay all night.

Because I won’t.  Because I’m going to pull out

the one bone that hurts the most and break the back

of every word I ever said to her.  The world is evil, Mother,

and I am, too.


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3 thoughts on “Jason Shinder’s “Hospital”

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