Would you believe
me if I told you
I wasn’t really
counting pills?
Would you believe
me if I had said I
wasn’t ready to go?
But the whiskey bottle
is empty and
so too the pill containers.
The white, blue,
green and cream
were supposed
to make me happy.
But I remained
wrapped in melancholy
despite their efforts.
The pills slide down
and I slow down.
I feel the atria lurch
followed by the ventricles.
The transition falters
and draws to a close.
It does not matter.
Barbara Brooks is a retired physical therapist living in North Carolina and a member of the poetry group Poet Fools. She is an avid birder and has traveled extensively throughout the world viewing wild birds in their natural habitat. She frequently incorporates nature in her poetry as an extension of her love of the outdoors. She has two chapbooks: The Catbird Sang and A Shell to Return to the Sea. She has had published poems in a number of eclectic journals such as Jellyfish Whispers, Tar River Poetry, Peregrine and Third Wednesday, Silkworm.