Thirty Short Poems About My Favorite Black Metal Band
Drastus goes to the doctor about the pain in his legs.
He feels very sheepish about it.
He is only twenty-four years old.
All of his friends seem invincible.
At the doctor's office he fills out a form or two
and sits down in the waiting room.
He has brought a book with him to read while he waits.
I'm not sure what book it is.
After a brief examination
and a few questions about exericise,
the doctor tells Drastus he suspects deep vein thrombosis.
It sounds even cooler in French.
Scanning the xeroxed handouts he's been given,
Drastus learns that the most at-risk populations
are the eldery and the sedentary. He thinks
of the black metal bands who, in fine health,
tour to America or Brazil,
and he feels pride swell in his chest.
It takes a love deeper than passing fancy,
he thinks to himself,
to really walk the walk!
He considers his small pun then
out of sight of the receptionist who's waving goodbye.
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