Stooper Poem by Matthew Foor

The house is in a stooper
Every morning
5am early risers
Line up for morning meds
Waiting for their sedatives

Me, still in a slumber
A toss and turn
Here and there

My new roommate
Up at 6am
Taking his morning shower
An hour and one half
Until I peel my eyelids open

After what only seemed
Like a few seconds
My alarm starts to wail

Already?
I think to myself

I grudgingly rise to a slouched position
Alarm still screaming at me
I could care less for the first few minutes

I give myself a good
Smack to the face to
Facilitate my wakeup

Leaning over the end of my
Disheveled bed
I show the alarm clock who's boss

Silence

My feet touch carpet
I dress for the day
Usually some dress slacks
And a long sleeve shirt

Haphazardly, I make my bed
Although I've never understood
This tradition
Seeing as how it will be slept in
That same night

Opening my door to a
Flood of florescent light
I squint as I head down the hall
To take my meds

7: 45 Sunday morning
Both TVs are on
One covering news
The other, music videos
It sickens me
It steels your life away
Brainwashing and
Bad news
That's all it ever is

All the clients
Curled up into fetal positions
Asleep in front of that
Infernal picture box

I wait at the office door
To be beckoned

The staff person waves me in
I plop onto the client chair,
Pour myself some water,
And take my bubble packed meds
From his hand

He watches me like a prison guard
As I toss the four pills down my gullet
Followed by a Dixie cup of water

A quick "Thank you"
Manages to escape my lips
As I exit the office

Everyone here is sedated
All except for me
All but me