There was this kid that
I knew when I was younger
who would mispronounce
his words almost beyond
recognition.
Hospitals were "hopsicles"
and I was always left with the
image of an edible building or
a melting heath center
which is much more interesting and
more optimistic than the image
that comes to mind
when I think of
the real thing.
Because hospitals bring pictures
of an old woman with pneumonia
and diabetes
and a prosthesis leg
and alzheimer's disease.
An old woman who would need
to think for a minute until finally
she recognized you and remembered
what your name was.
And she'd be all sad eyes and
sagging skin and her lips
curled perpetually downward.
It would smell of antiseptics and
medicine soap and bad food and
sickness.
And all you'd hear is the murmur
and static of cable-less televisions
accompanied by the occasional
blip of a monitoring machine.
And if I could I think
that I would change it so
people would only say
"hopsicle" and never "hospital"
because sometimes I'd rather be
ignorant than remember her.
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