Poem on a Phrase from Kresimir Bagic
Rusty Barnes

I do not need a doctor. I need my
splay of antipsychotics in the AM,

a sweet puff in the evening and cartons
of apple turnovers to overcome the bitter

tower. Oh Love, what will we do when
all of the children have grown up

but the supple shade of the juniper
berry no longer shelters us in our

castle? In the near distance we hump
like two dogs in our bright senescence,

fucking our memories with the bodies
we once had, creeping now like bats

into the caverns of old age, stalagmites
gathered around us like boys around

a campfire circle jerk utterly blinded
by lust to do what they do but compelled

like all the young to diminish the old
and disappear them into the black of memory.

I don’t need a doctor. I am doing just fine. Thank you.

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