The D Spot

Fragile days, these
springtime mornings.
The long drive with
nervous laughter.
We spiral up the parking garage, looking for a spot
closest to the elevator
in anticipation of when it’s over
and you are blasted from the drugs.
I always get lost trying to navigate
the hospital corridors and you laugh,
reminding me that I work there, I should know better.
The wait in the room, the magic push of fentanyl
and the procedure,
as it is.
How you manage this with such grace is beyond me.
Then another long walk
back to the car.
This time I drive.