Eighty

The hospital sent me eighty dollars.

Me, who, on principle, pays no bills

somehow paid eighty dollars too much

on some imaginary thirty or one hundred thousand that

no one paid that only manifested as a threat

against anyone who might dare to be unwell

and yet live or have loved ones and no boss.

It was probably actually more than thirty or one hundred thousand

but I can't add conjectures but it wasn't whatever it was

and eighty. Or is this eighty an apology? I'm sorry

it's not our fault, we're so tired we hate this job

we'd quit but then maybe we'd get sick or hurt

or pregnant and then boy we'd wish we had this eighty 

so take it and don't ask but I have to ask I have to

ask what service was it that was overpaid or not

worth eighty dollars when just sitting there cost

I don't know, twenty thousand? Was that for a cold egg

or someone else's blood or water or a sheet? Was it iron or opioids or pads?

Was it part of a long flirtation with a Cigna rep a game of

chicken with the boys down in billing, you know the type?

Is it the eighty dollar discount for remembering to wear my mask

and being more or less polite? Is it from my doctor, does she like me,

want to befriend me and, being so busy, barely knows how?

One time the chiropractor sent me a ten dollar bill in the mail, I don't know why but

is this like that? Is it just me, a reward for figuring out

that anything I see in the mail is, in fact, not real,

and you don't need healthcare if you just don't bother to pay!

Am I being rewarded for my avoidance or my suffering or

for the six hundred dollars I also know I overpaid which

might translate to eighty in the imaginary realm of all this.

I thought by now I'd have hit the larger meaning,

thought in thirty lines I would arrive at revelation

truth or humor but maybe it takes eighty, maybe more.