Doctor

Tell me why the deer have black eyes
that glow red in the dark, and why I wonder
whether they are the fallen angels. 
Why the wild turkeys are so petty and stupid,
pecking at each other all the time.
There’s a doe that follows
her fawns across the road, and a turkey
king that puffs himself up to scare away
the other turkey kings while his harem roosts
nearby. These creatures find in the same grass
something they like, something they depend on.
I wake to pain in my ears crackling,
blood on my pillowcase, and fill
my hatred bowl with desperation,
as we do, trying to get it out of us
in the most acceptable way. I hear
the doctor ask my parents if they think
I’m an alcoholic, a memory I rely on
to hurt me further whenever I latch
onto a different pain, a separate pain.