woods-insurer

I got a letter from my insurer the other day
Opened and read it (“This has gotta be good news”)
Said that the treatment wasn’t covered
Turned to the family like, “I guess just forget it” (“Just forget it”)
Big fake laugh (“Ah, hahahahaha!”)
This ain’t a Denzel movie, don’t try to think fast
Don’t start changin’ lanes, get yourself whiplashed
Oh look, got yourself a shit bag (“Oh, whaddya know?”)

Thought:

“It takes, unhappily, no more than a desk and writing supplies to turn any room into a confessional. This may have nothing to do with the acts we have committed, or the humors we do go in and out of. It may be only the room — a cube — having no persuasive powers of its own. The room simply is. To occupy it, and find a metaphor there for memory, is our own fault.”

Thomas Pynchon | V.

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