Surgical Day

She smiles a Cheshire Cat Grin and gives me a Valium.
Radiation-needle markers disguise themselves as tortured croquet wickets.
I fret while talking to the White Rabbit.
I’m rolling down toward the Mad Hatter.
My laughter paints the tension red.
The anesthesiologist visits, breathing drugs.
“Off with your breasts.”
“It’s the Queen.”
“Tea time.”
“Alice?”

- Mary Ellen Letarte


This piece originally appeared in 55 Fiction.