My Morning at the AIDS Clinic

white room sterile walls
chrome steel egg shaped utensils
chilly winter’s morn

I sit in the waiting room, watch him
puke -- security guard gets upset
tries to push him off to the washroom
and I empathize with this puking man
‘cause there are times when I want to puke

all over the egg- white corridors
and on their shiny waxed polished floors,
but I am prideful and feel sorry --
this puking man sitting next to me
in a garbage can from the ID
unit, -- spilling his guts out with germs

puke green uniforms
rush by me in motioned waves
I feel my abyss

unsettled I feel nausea’s wave
watch the puke green rush by hear the puke
come out next to me and I want to
be strong as the security guard
cautiously approaches us two

rush, rush rushing and hear hear hearing
it rises and rises and I try
to stop and catch it before it’ll spew
burning sensation -- stomach on fire --
pain in chest/back/legs -- the vile taste
I don’t want to feel an idiot
I really want this moment to pass

I feel the spring air
awash over my spirit
paint me egg-white walls

the puking stops and the man gets up --
leaves -- heads to the washroom wrenching a-
long the way and the white egg walls float
as I visualize myself lying
on tepid sand and near desert caves --
the serenade of the turquoise waves

Gregg Rowe
May 07, 2006