Hospital

Fear

As the time draws near, I feel
a sack of sick hurling itself
at the base of my stomach.
Maggots in gourds swing
from trapeze to trapeze.
I have no appetite for food
that morphs to iron filings.
I feel hairs springing to life,
standing erect at the nape
of my neck. A cannon ball
of jelly grows in my throat.
My mouth is parched. Fear.