Questionnaire

Who has taken my place
and sits you

on the toilet? Who
lifts you from

wheelchair and puts you
to bed? Who

has taken my name
and married another,

sends her kids
to Catholic school,

and brushes
your hair? Who

comes in singing
with your tray, and

lovingly washes
your underwear? Who

has given me
an accent and

upper-body
strength? Who

has me decorating cakes
and remembers

your name? Who's
taped a picture of my likeness

to the wall? A stranger,
a distant face. Who

has taken my cats
and made them a dog? Who

shops there, not here, for
ground beef? Who

has made me one of
the gals? Who

has taken me for
immigrant? Who listens

to your weather reports,
believes in so much

catastrophe? Who's
riding the bus? Whose

name on the pass?
But for the grace, whose

work is closer in range to who
you were? I am busy at

nothing, my avataar
has come in

with a suspense
of pills in gel-filled

cups. Who
prescribes all those

drugs? The scripts
are impossible to read. Could I

have written them myself?