Lenox Hill

by Ryan Clinesmith

What’re they looking for,
the gnats that fly up my nose?
A reservoir of something
I can’t know? If they found
what they were looking for
would I let a surgeon take it out?

Cut and drain, high five in a way
that doesn’t seem right
in front of a vivisected brain.
On the surgeon’s table I can’t say
I’d listen to Jerry. Is his music
really for me or just the theme song

for the game the surgeons play?
If I were to choose life or death,
I’d choose life for greater context.
I wouldn’t have to know why gnats
fly up my nose on exploratory
suicide missions. In the same way

surgeons choose to say, “It’s good for you!”
Convince us we should let them in,
scalpel when all we really need to do
is eat more leafy greens. If only
they weren’t always proceeding
with eyebrow craniotomies.