I'm here to vouch for the

drugged down

Cambodian

woman.

She pleads in English, "the meds make me crazy...." 

I'm here to vouch for the

drugged down

Cambodian

woman.

The drugs weren't her choice.

The judge was her pusher.

And the doctors pushed.

And the Cambodian woman eventually fell.

There was an easy way to do it.

(Not for the Cambodian woman.)

I'm here to vouch for the Cambodian woman.

Security came and she was shot down

by injection

before her 85 pound soaking wet body

was put to bed to

"rest".

"Go away! You would want privacy if That happened to you,

wouldn't you?"

We stared anyway.

(Not at the Cambodian woman.)

The white staffer who had shouted

"No! No!" to a fresh air cigarette break for the

Cambodian woman

and had made crazy windshield wiper motions with her index fingers

in the Cambodian woman's face

got to sit at a little desk

positioned outside the Cambodian woman's door. 

She wore a

smug purse on her lips

as she guarded the door

of a drugged down 85 pound

Cambodian woman

while we stared.

There was safety.

(Not for the Cambodian woman.)

The next day

the Cambodian woman

was back to her old self,

shuffling when she walked though she was young

and announcing the minute any group started,

"I go lay down."

The Cambodian woman did find time to draw that day.

She smiled as she put the final flourishes on an oil pastel of a fiery red dragon.

No one will tell the Cambodian woman she can't smoke.

I'm here to vouch for her.

The meds

make her

mad.