post-procedure         

by Julie Allyn Johnson


late-afternoon appointment—
I walk up a flight of dusty stairs
littered with spearmint gum wrappers
red-tagged cellophane spirals
butts of Winston Lights
corner-ripped Yellow Pages
chicken-scratched phone numbers
inscribed in pencil

several young women
inhabit the space, their rear-ends
occupying every one of the
hard-plastic chairs and faded settees
in this vast cheerless abyss

directed to appear here today
so as to ensure my mistakes
are not repeated, I am stunned
to discover so many others
waiting to avail themselves
of these same post-procedural services

what I regret
is not what’s been done
but that it was necessary
that precautions were not taken
that I was foolish
that I succumbed
to some cosmopolitan sense
of portraying myself as someone
I now know I am not

abandoned by friends, by family too

oh mother, how you destroyed me…

shoulders heaving, I sigh
for what has to be the gazillionth time


* * * * *

Julie Allyn Johnson, a sawyer's daughter from the American Midwest, prefers black licorice over red, cigarette-size Tootsie Rolls and Hot Tamales, practically the perfect candy. Her current obsession is tackling the rough and tumble sport of quilting and the accumulation of fabric. A Pushcart Prize nominee, Julie’s poetry can be found in various journals including Star*Line, The Briar Cliff Review, Phantom Kangaroo, Haven Speculative, Anti-Heroin Chic, Coffin Bell and Chestnut Review.