third time’s (not yet) the charm

My hair smells of the ECT room,
The faint, sterile odor embedded with
The memory of what just happened.
A doctor waves goodbye
And then I come out of a nap.
Ten quick minutes,
none of which I can recall.
No fanfare, no time to fret
As methodical as an assembly line.
The three little naps are over for the week.
Maybe the next ones will do the trick.
Then I smell the ECT residue on my hair,
and I say next ones better do the trick.

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