“Thrice” is a reprint of my prose poem previously published in Unbroken Journal. This second-person imperative piece provides a smidgen of humor that takes about a minute to read.

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Wake up and blink — three times. Throw off the triple layer of blankets and touch your toes — once, twice, thrice. Swallow eins, zwei, drei Prozac with three gulps of water. Look at your feet and frown because you don’t have a third leg. Pull on your slippers. Shuffle into the bathroom. Flip the light-switch un, deux, trois times. Check your reflection in the trifold mirror and realize you look like you haven’t slept in three days. Shrug in triplicate and call the office of psychiatrist Dr. Sigmund Gutarzt. Speak to the receptionist. Ask her for the names and appointment times of your first three patients.

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