Donna Dallas

Dead Pool

What should I do if every shrink 
refuses to treat my agoraphobia 
germaphobia 
and hypochondria
I have never truly cared for any
one person – a potential unrealized phobia brewing….
our neighbor’s teenager rings the bell
to ask if she can spend the next few 
nights here 
the mother skipped out a week ago
with her lover
to the Jersey Shore 

The teenager hears noises in the front yard 
by her basement trap door
is terrified 
she’s gaunt 
dark circles under her eyes 
I know these creatures 
I know the leaned walk 
the desperation in the tears meant to convince and convey some internal message of crisis 
these are dangerous times 
do I let the devil in
or slay it on the doorstep 
not having kids of my own and not caring —- phobia phobia phobia —— for others
in any way sense or form
gives me the conviction to simply shut the door on this sad drug-addicted girl

It’s after midnight 
the moon is in full white-gold bloom 
over the deserted street in our section 8
her eyes yellow-tinged – yet electric-alive deep in those sockets 
I’m tired from this neighborhood and it’s sadness day after day 
and there’s a truth buried into every lie – we know this 

She’s seventeen going on forty and I got a dilapidated husband
churning methadone to survive his lifelong addiction 
we’re all in this pool – it’s like a dead pool
with stagnant water 
me and my phobias that aren’t real 
this scraggly mess from someone else’s dead pool that I have taken in
to salvage 
I stroke her hair as she vomits into the toilet 
spreading her germs around the rim