"Meantime life outside goes on all around you" / Bob Dylan  / A true story in progress 

I'm in the middle of the fourth day

of an Ivan the Terrible rash which is responsible

for the maddening, all-day-long itching and scratching cycle.

My primary care physician checked it out, but

referred me to a dermatologist who

can’t see me until next Thursday because he's busy.

I may not be as busy as the good doctor, but the scratching up and down

over my legs and across my butt running parallel to the equator is relentless,

and I should add: overwhelmingly busy.

At this hour there's nothing much I can do, so I’ll read some poems

by somebody else higher up in the rankings, and maybe that'll take

my mind off the intolerable itch.

If not, I may find myself admitted to the institute for observation, laying stark naked

upon a vinyl-covered bunk, cell number 503, 2:28 a.m. reading a very funny

sonnet by Diane Seuss on page 4 of her volume: “Frank: Sonnets”

wondering what my chances are for an early release from the facility.

Meantime, my frantic fingertips are scratching the flesh from my rash-

smeared ass while I'm laughing out loud like the other observable lunatics.