(As requested...III)

Pills *



Familiar orange bottle, white top.
It lounges on the diner table. You regret
not pushing the pills into some other container.
Its orange almost shines, like beacons,

distress signals.

The color of caution signs.
Not a warning, Think twice before you swallow

Though you always do—Did I take them

already today? Did I take them already?

But warning someone else to think before speaking with you
What if she's infectious?

As consolation: think of autumn, of leaves

about to fall. They pity you for a fraction of a second
as they smile into their coffee, stirring
sugar and cream evenly.

The color of convict uniforms.
Always in a coat pocket, in a backpack, in a purse,

the dull rattle of pills in plastic with each step.

Ever-orange cylinder, dimensions predetermined

and mass produced.

A prisoner executed each day, swallowed,

buried in stomach acid
for the greater good.

(*when blockquoting, html adds italics, which are unintended here. When I have time later, I will appropriately represent the text).