Morgan Michaels Poems

For once, Donnie was glad they weren't connected to the waiting room by intercom. He would have felt odd summoning-in someone named that over a loud-speaker. So, he simply strolled to the end of the corridor and hollered

'Delilah Supreme-Creator', interested to see who popped up.
...

In person, the figure that popped up didn't match the rotundity of her name. No Jovian thunder glowered from her brow. She smiled and skipped across the floor like a child who'd won an award- more like Hebe than Jove, thought Donnie. Her thick-cropped, oddly stylish hair swept in all directions and was expensively bleach-streaked. Keeping herself combed seemed to be her chief purpose. The nails of her chubby fingers were pricily manicured and painted. But her face was her most painstaking attraction. Twin cloves of penciled kohl, one the mirror-image of the other- soared above her eyes- themselves mascaraed like an Egyptian queen's. A steady tracing of sepia, begun at the center hair line, divided her face into halves and continued down the nose's bridge to the tip, where it divided and arched above either ala. Her lips were carmine. Two carmine ovals heightened the arches of her cheeks. Passing, their eyes met briefly. Donnie was electrified. In the palette of human eye colors he had never seen such a blue. Cerulean and fixed. Now, the wondrous iris dilates and contracts- diminishing and enlarging its central lacune in response to ambient light. Hers, though, lacked the irritability of irises everywhere. Amazed, he recognized them contact lenses, their unearthly color selected for its shock value. There was something reptilian about their fixity.

'The serpent of Eden never had eye so blue', thought Donnie, waggishly.
...

He followed her into the office and they took seats on opposite sides of the desk.She wanted the results of recent blood work, he read, from the MA's difficult handwriting. These Donnie soon began to relate, starting with the hemogram, carefully parceling the info into understandable bits.

'It was nice being agreeable and helpful', he thought, 'even if the patient wore rabbit ears. She wasn't anemic' he said, 'and everything else looked normal'.
...

'Well', she's come to the right place', chuckled Donnie, enjoying his own irony.

He wanted to ask her about the name change, and if it had survival value, but didn't. It might be misunderstood. He studied the chunky figure. Was her hair too hastily combed?
...