Sawbones

He could feel his reason slip
As the hardware was withdrawn
The vertebrae's ongoing groans unheard
But his sawbones couldn't fathom this
Prescribed poppy pills for a clouded mind
The prognosis far from absolute
The patient left to his own devices
The pain still dictating terms

Yet once more beneath the knife
The floating steel stabilized
The screws left standing at their post
Plotting freedom from the bone
While the reign of pain proceeds

A refugee where the poppies grow
Praying for intervention
His screws still loose, inclined to turn
One more sawbones left to burn.