Unlike luckier nights before,
tonight may not be
an empty shell.

The chemicals,
the endorphins have been slept off
and it is now seven hours past.

You tangle with a
potential responsibility,
growing more onerous by the moment.
This is why the green cross
and 24-hour sign
shine
like a neon lighthouse.

The sour vomiting babies
and antiseptic lights
are supposed to prove the practice’s worth,
but you are not too sure
how ready they are
to treat
a threat at midnight.

While you wait,
you contrast
the surge you did not care for then,
and this very situation.

You wonder what the doctor thinks
when you ask for it.
You wonder if he decides,
"Slut."