I realize now that I should have added one of my admonitions to this poem that the speaker in the poem is not necessarily the same person as the poet. The Z-Boys and I are not sitting around stacking up pills. We have far too much to do. In fact, the next item on our agenda is dusting the cubby holes in my closet -- the ones the shoes go in. Can you believe I used to have to keep my shoes in their boxes? I now lead a more civilized life with a shoe for every cubby and a cubby for every shoe.
last night she tried to kill herself
she lined up the pills in rows
pink for xanax, green for klonopin, white for pain
but they didn't work
because nothing can stop the pain
inside her head