I do not love you for your round perfection.
It’s not your abundance that feeds my joy.
I do not love you for the circumspection
That sends my brain to lands so coy
And allows the pain off in another direction.
Nay, instead, it’s the way you excuse me from my day
And grant me dreams of high school and lasers,
Dinosaurs and swans and champagne and phasers.
O, Tramadol, I love you in every which way.

*     *     *

I take you each evening amidst all the others,
With lemon water and vitamins and SSRIs.
Your dual color capsule is fancier than your brothers’.
Gray-blue and beige, you’re truly a prize
Of epic proportions as great as my mother(s).
Blood pressure medications seem strange
For my problems, but migraines are a bitch,
Worse than an unscratchable itch,
The worst of the many that fill my range.

*     *     *

I left you for last, my sweet mood enhancer,
My favorite, my beloved, my wondrous pill.
You set me free, I feel like a dancer,
Without the grace or skinniness or or playbill,
But with added sweetness and romance(r).
You move the chaos from choking around my neck,
Allow me to breathe and think and sigh.
I want to blaspheme in your name and buy
Lots more things that make me happy … on my deck.