I am not a rich person

I am not a rich person.
Far from wealthy,
I struggle to make two paychecks
meet.
I have insurance because
I have to these days.
The premiums are not cheap
but I make them.
My therapy is expensive.
My medicines are expensive.
But I need them.
I fill out the forms
and submit my claims
only to have them denied
out of hand.
Treatment not covered.
Deductible not met.
All of the sudden
two paychecks
cannot meet
and bills cannot
be paid.
I will lose my car.
I will lose my home.
I will lose my dignity.
I call the insurance company,
the customer service number
on the back of my card.
I listen to an automated voice
try to confuse me.
There are ten options
and only nine numbers on my phone.
I press the buttons,
determined to reach
a human voice.
When I do I am pleasant.
I ask for a name,
discuss the weather
and ask where
the call center is located.
A lilting female voice
laughs and tells me the weather
is better in Phoenix.
As I ask about my claims,
she sobers
and explains why they are denied.
I hang up and write down what I know.
Suzy in Phoenix.
The next day I search the web
and find the call center.
I gas up my car
which isn’t my car any longer.
I drive to Phoenix
because I cannot afford to fly.
I reach the call center
and park my car
in an immense lot.
I walk into the center,
to the service desk
and ask if I can speak
to Suzy.
A very helpful security person
calls Suzy and directs me
to a waiting area
near a bank of elevators.
I watch the extension ring
and hope that x1215
might be on the 12th floor.
I take an elevator to that floor
and step out into
a large open space
full of desks, people, and phones.
I slip the two Berettas I carry
from behind my back
and walk onto the floor.
I don't particularly care
if I kill Suzy.
I have 20 rounds in each pistol
and hope I can kill
30-40 customer service reps.
Perhaps that will send
a message
to the insurance company.