I asked my doctor to take my life;

After all, that’s what I pay him for:

“I’m useless; I’m superfluous.

I contribute nothing to society but cynicism.”

But he refused.

“If I prescribed Nembutal

To every useless prick

Who wanted to die

I’d go out of business.”

“You’d be taking food

From my children’s mouths

And denying them a private school education.

And what of my spouse’s role

As a doctor’s wife.

She’d no longer be able

To luncheon with the affluent.”

“Go home and drink some more cheap wine

And if that doesn’t work

Come back tomorrow and I’ll put you

On a different medication.”

Of course he was right;

I shouldn’t be so selfish.



I gave blood

I gave blood to the vampires

And to my employers

Who extracted the very last drop they could from me

I gave blood to the bats and rats

And my extremely bloodthirsty cats

I gave it all despite my chronic anaemia

I also donated sperm to my ex-partner

But all she gave me

Were children I haven’t seen for years

And who probably despise me now

But shed no tears

I gave blood.



“I was talking to my dentist,

It was a brief conversation.”

The taste of chemicals

And the prick in my gum

To make you feel numb.

Numbers 27 and 28 were extracted.

She shows me my teeth

And asks if I’m right to walk home.

“Of course. I’m a survivor poet.”

There’s a bit of superficial bleeding

And the salt mouthwashes to endure.

“And no drinking.”

“What? Not even red wine?”

“Alright. You can have one glass of Shiraz, Craig.

When it stops bleeding.”

I gave it a couple of hours

And the $6 a litre wine

Tasted so good

I drank four.