It’s standard procedure.
Keep calling, keep coping,
your prescription will expire,
and next time, it’ll be even harder
to renew it, you’ll wish for health
in the pauses between hold music,
and drown in the dollar signs
they say you owe, or might owe;
it’s not always clear.
It’s standard procedure.
And after that surgery, you’ll need
another prescription for the pain
they’ll say you’re imagining,
another prescription to keep your body
from attacking itself.
Insurance plays doctor
without ever seeing your face.
You are left floating
somewhere in-between,
the phone calls, the tears,
the dreams compounded into dust.
It’s all standard procedure.

Steph Patterson (she/her) is a feminist poet with a love of horror and dark fantasy. She’s a chronically ill ghoul that proudly identifies as bi. When she’s not conjuring strange tales, she devours books, tends to her outdoor familiars, or connects with her coven. Her work has appeared in Alien Buddha Press, The Morgue, HNDL Magazine, Suburban Witchcraft Magazine, Scavengers Literary Magazine, and others. She lives with her family in their cozy home on the edge of the forest. 

Instagram: @spookyspatters