American Dream

By Ace Boggess

Doc puts her on a new drug—

resolves two thirds of her problems

(doesn’t sound like much unless you’ve been there)

while inflicting a fifth of side effects.

She’s happy (on a parallel trajectory)

until samples run out, insurance won’t pay.

She couldn’t afford the pills if she left her apartment

for the streets & survived on stolen crackers from Wendy’s.

She fills out forms. Denied. She fills out more,

supplies documents, writes a letter pleading for help

from the manufacturer, a company not in the business

of helping. The doctor tries her on other drugs,

jotting down notes on ineffective this & counterproductive that.

He telephones the company, discusses calmly, argues,

while she twitches, sweats, scratches, burns—

angry, hollow. Still: Denied.

At last, the doctor calls to say

she’s approved for a year’s worth of the miracle drug.

She won’t the lottery without bad choices.

It might not last, but she’s happy (on a parallel trajectory).

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