Two poems by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
DEATH SLEEP
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SURGERY ON THE SUBWAY
I am the world’s most renowned surgeon. I performed surgery on the subway one day with a dull knife and just a few feet of string borrowed from some bum’s guitar. A guy had lost his hand on the tracks and lucky for him I was there to cut into the wound and to use the guitar string to sew him up. I filled the cut with some whiskey from the flask of a homeless drunkard. I had to promise the man I would refill his flask every night for a week. The guy that had lost his hand was screaming in agony when I showed up. In a matter of seconds he was shaking my hand with his sewed up hand. I have no idea why I am in this hospital. I did not do anything wrong. I just took a few aspirins from a pharmacy. But that’s what doctors do. Doctors have the right to take medicine from any pharmacy because they are doctors. I did not have any change on me to pay for them. But I did not owe them anything. All the lives I saved in my lifetime should be good enough for me to take anything I want when I don’t have any money. It is not like I am a criminal. I am a doctor and that alone should earn me the benefit of the doubt.
Author bits:
Luis was born in Mexico. He works in the mental health field in Los Angeles, CA. Alternating Current Press/Propaganda Press published my latest chapbook, Songs for Oblivion. Poet's Democracy published my poetry book, Peering into the Sun.
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