Doctor Patchwork

Doctor Patchwork

When I awoke this morning,
I saw, upon my bedside stand,
a vial of pills.
They were pink in color, and round.
These are not mine, I thought,
and wondered what on earth they were.

I had no pain, no heartburn,
no mental disability—
least I did not think so,
so why the pills?
I peered, with still sleepy eyes,
at the label which had my name
clearly inscribed upon it,
and that of a Doctor Patchwork—
Now who the heck is he?

No more than one per month,
the instructions read …
and be sure you’re laying down.
Then, think about an incident in time
that you would enjoy again.
Doctor Patchwork will make it happen,
the label read,
if he can, and he usually does.
He is a very clever man.

Now, I’m not one to take pills often,
and certainly not, when
I don't know what they are.
But this morning,
I must have left
all good sense upon my pillow.

I thought about a morning
just like this, silent
with freshly fallen snow.
I was just three or four,
as I recall,
and always up to mischief.
Then, I was swirled and hurled
through time and space …
until I stood in that room of long ago.
So, no surprise that, before I was supposed to,
I opened the front door—
Well, there had been a blizzard
that night … while I slept,
and the snow was piled so high
against that door,
that when I opened it that morning,
I was engulfed in a tidal wave of
soft, white fluff that came tumbling in
and knocked me off my feet.
I flailed my arms and giggled,
delighted at my game—
my homemade avalanche.
Oh, my, it was such fun
until, I saw Mother’s face
and Dad taking off his leather belt.
Ooops!

I tried to scoop the snow back out,
but there was way too much.
So, the moral of this story is;
check through the window or the keyhole,
or take a peek through the letter slot
before opening the door.
But more than that,
do not take any pills prescribed
by Doctor Patchwork,
because if you do …
you will likely find yourself
in a whole heap of trouble—
maybe even followed
by a spanking.

Vi Jones
©February 16, 2006