Come to her Window
She’ll be home soon.
your car window is dirty
it’s blurry because you spit out iced coffee,
a venti vanilla sweet cream cold brew
from starbucks. you hate starbucks because it’s like mcdonald’s and coca-cola
it has taken over the planet.
but you love starbucks, no one makes an iced coffee like those green-shirted baristas.
you spit it out accidentally while driving your dark blue subaru
to your shrink. You haven’t taken your yellow meds on time today, again.
you forget sometimes what time it is
that pills also have a clock. you take morning medicines at night because you forget.
you forget you have a disease. you forget because no one wants to talk about it.
manic depression is what they used to call it.
it sounds like the title of a poem you would never write.
in a book you would never read.
they changed the name to bipolar disorder. how dare they?
they took the song out of your situation.
you’re just a girl who tried to clean the coffee stains on her car window
with a clorox wipe. now everything is blurry.
it all looks like frosty bleach.
the word looks different with a steamy white tinge to it.
the world looks messy, almost dirty, but you just tried to clean it.
you look out that window and drive to the lake instead of the doctor.
you look up at the sky through the foggy glass.
you see it now.
the clouds are blurry like a monet painting.
he said he wanted to be enchanted.
this is it, isn’t it?
this is what, he was talking about.