Juleigh Howard-Hobson

DISORDER

For yet another pill will stop the throb
And push of what we never want to think,
But must think, must think, must think. There's no job
Like obsession for the weary. No chink
In our mental armor is too small to
Become a gaping hole for worry and
For fret unless we take the pills, which do
Nothing in the long run, but make us stand
Our fears a bit better in the short, so...
Down the hatch they go, the prescription pills
That ease our anxious to-s and fro-s. We know
They don't cure what ever it is that kills
Our inner peace... but they settle the stress.
And, once we take them, we could not care less.

Juleigh Howard-Hobson is a widely published formalist poet. Winner of the Australian Anzac Day Award for Poetry, she has been nominated for both the Pushcart and the Best of the Net. Her poetry has, most recently, won the Trellis Villanelle Contest and appeared in Candelabrum, Hawk&Whippoorwill, 14by14, Umbrella and Soundzine.