by Margaret Bouvard
In the dim rustle of the waiting room
I’m asked to sign yet another form
that I will authorize my insurance to pay,
that my birth date is the same
and also my telephone number,
not to mention my mother’s maiden name.
But then comes the three- page form
explaining my rights to privacy,
one paragraph after another implying yes
and mostly no to those just claims
down to the one telling me
law enforcement officers have absolute authority
to examine my health records.
I sign the way I would write a ballot
with only one candidate. In this age of the war
on terror when our president describes the “dim, dark
vision” of the terrorists and how they are all
around us, I am about to have cataract surgery
on my right eye. Even when the lights go out
I know a lie when I see one.
Marguerite Bouvard is the author of five books and three chapbooks of poetry and several books on human rights and one on grieving. She is a resident Scholar at Brandeis University’s Women's Studies' Research Center.
