released

having recently been
released from a mental institution
I stand outside
the iron gate and wave
to my doctors and fellow patients.
they smile
and wave back.
there's joe, who thinks he's jesus,
and jim
who believes he's
the king of England.
mary, the bride of Frankenstein,
and elaine, joan of arc.
it's a lovely bunch of nutcakes,
to which I was once
a part of.
why they think i'm better,
I have no clue,
maybe they need the bed, the space,
the shackles
that held me down.
I see the doctors in the their white
coats,
holding syringes, and electrodes,
long wires where
the electricity flowed,
their hammers and saws and scalpels,
bottles of fat pills,
books and books
describing how to heal.
they wave and wave as I wave
back and walk away.
free at last of so much crazy
stuff that go in my way.