North Harris

So I go to North Harris
I ran out of pills
I puff and head for
the receptionist's desk
She asks me my number

Twelve-thirteen-seventeen
Then turns and tells
who is there that
She reeks of weed
She tells me go on

To Reproductive Health
as she reaches for a telephone
In my head I silently YELP
I thank her kindly
but with silence in my head

I bid her good day
and go back where I came
The day's mildly blackened
But I still live my life
My, how this young country is poisoned with strife