I was hoping that my medical malpractice science-fiction story would be ready for consumption but now I see that it needs a lot of work.  I’m a neophyte with fiction so I will take my time and struggle through it.  In the meantime, here’s another poem from my personal archive:

The Death of Plasticman

I ate nothing but brittle things:
Cold cereal no milk, stale Chips Ahoy, no beverages.
I turned off the humidifier
And collapsed like that old hotel,
The dynamite expertly placed.
My eyes rolled around.
Feet waddled aimless, shod, smokey and crispy.
My wife coughed
While the cat stood
And swept me up, brush and pan

(This poem was first published at http://sobs.org/poetry/the-death-of-plasticman.html The Site of Big Shoulders)