Private Clobetasol the newest member in our ranks. Fresh, white faced, Crisp corners, rigged form. With that sickening sweet n' sour smell of confidence and plastic box.  It’s almost hopeful, almost inspiring,  each time you press him he bounces back, like magic,  like he’ll never run dry. I doubt he’ll last a month. Next in line Sergeant Triamcinolone Their cap now crusted yellow-brown,  a jagged, curling form,  wearing every desperate moment we’ve had like a badge. Barely standing on his tilted top he waits for emergencies only.  Then the ladies, CeraVe, Nivia, and Aquaphor. Each holding their own beauty and pride. CeraVe, a wide form, stiff insides,  gives you a sting, but leaves you in heaven faster than you can say ouch.  Nivia tall and curvy,  makes you forget you’re living in war, but she doesn't last long.  Aquaphor leaves you a sloppy sticky mess. but, She’ll get you through more than just the night. Dr. Kheil’s who’s not a doctor.  Mouth of a scientist, teeth of a scam artist No one knows exactly what they do.  But fear what will happen if they don’t agree with his solemn smiles. So we pay our dues.  And Cetaphil and Jergens, and Eucerin and all the other soldiers they promised would win this war. They sag against each other in the back of a barracks discarded, forgotten, half used. Finally, the Benadryl, a time bomb,  sleeping amongst the regular Allegra. An easy win but heavy cost.  It strangles all life from the battle, the good and the bad.  We fear it but we need it, and we use it more and more, and wait in horror when it becomes the only resource we have. -RM