here, drink this

your doctor throws up her hands,
exasperated,
and pulls
out a flask
of whiskey
she's kept hidden
in the deep white pocket
of her smock.
she turns the bottle up
and drinks,
squinting
into the fluorescent lighting
of her office.
here, she says,
wiping her mouth with
her sleeve, want some?
you too take the bottle
and drink,
coughing at the whiskeys
harshness
as it rips against
your throat.
you move around on the examination
table,
your bare
legs dangling two feet
from the floor, the paper
gown
you have on wrinkling
and making noises as you
try to unstick yourself
from the vinyl surface
you sit on.
I don't know what the answer
is, the doctor says.
I can't solve this problem
you have. I don't know
what to tell you,
but here, have some more.
you drink up,
she drinks.
you notice her legs.
you're starting to feel
better about being sick with
these allergies.