Referral

The clock on the wall has a stuttering hand,

he scribbles 'anxiety' with a flick of his wrist.

He doesn't have time for the way that I stand

or the click in my hip that he says don't exist.

The paper is crinkled and loud on the seat,

it sticks to my thighs when I try to get loose.

The diagnosis is tidy and neat,

a knot in the mind he's decided to use.