Hollywood’s Miracle Mile

Percodanized with a double-dose Ativan kicker,the big shot's head balloons into a watermelondense as a Grauman Chinese sidewalk staror Wilshire Boulevard manhole cover.Throw velvet linesto a drowning plastic vs. reconstructive surgeonwho is already on a tightrope, neck in a vice-- would have hung himself if only he could.No one can lift the cervical collar from its bed.Everyone reassures, Superhero, hang in there.Viable by a thread, when mistresses aren't looking,imagininga human slinky,his six-pack abs and hair transplant backbendthen flop from king-sized mattress onto the red carpet.Determined not to slip that very last micro-millimeterof spinal canalwhich would pith our celebrity to death, pretzelwon't untwist, losing consciousness, he hears the Dadhe never met urge from the grave,Son don't you give up.While the departed's being processed then possiblyaccepted into one or another tier of heaven, Godrequired a quiet tearful poem about the fragility of life…I observed my wife's Medicare birthday from above.Our kids and their's played on the white sand, picnicked.First year unable to be there because of damned painthat kept me upstairs in traction,I took pride in howthe family carried on. Sons fondly helped their matriarchup the steps. One daughter-in-law packed the beach gear,the other clutched a baby. Back in the condominium,unconsoled grandchildrenasked if if if Grampa saw their waves from the seawhen they saw me perched at the picture windowin a tarnished chair wearing my new cervical halo.

from #MedicinebyAlexandrosSfakianakis via xlomafota13 on Inoreader http://ift.tt/20LHsSE
via IFTTT