He likes a little Vicodin so much
that though he hasn’t sought it on the street,
he’s not above some friendly theft. His touch
is cautious and his attitude’s discreet;
he’s purloined pills from parents, in-laws, friends.
He likes the way a little dose forbids
anxiety, how calm his manner trends,
but he won’t steal a tablet from his kids.

His adult offspring have enough on hand
they wouldn’t miss a few, unless they paid
attention, kept a tally, maybe planned
surveillance from some symptom he betrayed.
Unlikely as discovery would be,
he dreads it so he’s bound to honesty.

This entry was posted in Behavior Modification, Health, Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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