Deathbed driving fucks with your head;
I get lost in my own hometown.
Have to turn around and backtrack
like some damn tourist.
At the pharmacy, I learn
that prescriptions from hospice are free
and tagged with little orange stickers.
The clerk jerks back from the dayglo on the bag
and avoids my eyes.
It's all right, I want to tell her.
Don't worry; it's all right.
Grief isn't contagious.
You're born with it.
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