PSYCHIATRY BIRD
THE SHRINK
By Frances Harris
His glasses hang loose on the end of his nose,
He’s doing the wards while checking his notes,
Both eyes are fixed; then he looks straight ahead,
Making me feel I am already dead,
An intern goes by and gives me a sneer,
I think they’ve forgotten my life’s on the line,
Uppers and downers and little red pills,
Magical powers that give me a chill,
I wander around and…
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