It's just for dehydration, the nurse says
She hangs up this alien bladder
Full of fluids so clear that
It looks like it couldn't possibly be from anywhere but Pluto
A little of your blood slides up the tube
Before it retreats under the rushing tide
Of whatever is in that loud bag
I know
You probably won't die
You won't, definitely
But I'm great at catastrophizing
So why stop here
I'm sure the doctor's gonna turn to me and say I have cancer
The nurse's great at not wanting anyone to panic
But when she walks back into the room
And sees your first bag already almost gone
Her eyes go wide for a moment
As though you were just fallen limp onto the tracks
The doctor asked me
Three times before we leave
If I understand just how much ibuprofen
That he means it when he says as much liquid as you can stomach
He says it's hard to care for someone as sick as you are
And that I'm a great boyfriend
And I say nothing about the ring I bought you
Or the box it now lives in again
Nothing about how you were supposed to move out tomorrow
And how we're supposed to take things slow
And we will
We'll talk slow
Eat slow
Reveal everything we've kept hidden
Just like that, slow
And there I am
4 a.m. drifting into what was our bedroom like a thief
A thief holding water and pills
And there I am also
Shuffling back to the couch
And turning off the lights
He doesn't have to know that tomorrow
You'll cancel the movers as well as the wedding venue
All the invitations, unmailed
No dress yet, thank God
Here's your perscription
Remember her fluids
She'll be fine in a week
Have a nice day