One shake of their heads told me not to. 3 Paper mask conceals my nose and mouth. A girl with metal teeth at the mall tilts her head when I walk past. My IV bag hangs on, boiled to clear. Another x-ray of my fit lungs tucked under arm.
White cells look good.
I stay through Labor Day, Carbons float To the man in charge Hand on the doorknob. Blood will be drawn daily, a life of antibiotics. I hug all, Walk through parted doors in a wheelchair I don't need. Outpatient Busted my catheter, eight a.m., Shooting the saline through. All these days of stingy diet.