I will feel the needles prick,
I have no choice in it,
My system is at a low,
Because of chemicals
On which I must depend,
Monoclonal antibody junkie,
My immune response on overdrive,
Put in check to survive,
This Covid-19 issue
I suppose is stress enough on any body,
Worries regardless of the beast,
My depleted white blood count,
Will attempt to protect,
But if it should be enough,
I cannot know,
I do not want to know,
But God forbid
I should decline
Any hope,
In any solution,
Obscene to deny those who’ve thus died in vain,
This I expose my vein,
Staring straight,
For feel the pierce of needle,
Side effects I know the drill,
Brave the worst,
Survive it,
Will,
No placebo
For this one,
Patience,
One patient
For the vaccine.
Tag: Death
Putting Down the Dog
“Let’s go for a walk, “
He said
“Just us,”
And to our daughter that she should stay home with her aunt and uncle,
Unusual,
I made a cryptic joke,
About putting a dog down on such a walk,
I was to realize just how close such a phrase was,
We walked out back
–Our daughter followed,
And we rested in the middle of a vacant path,
And in a clear, but quivering voice
He shot me
With words of “it’s me, not you”,
And “I love you, but I’m not in love…”,
And as tears bled from my brown eyes,
I was suddenly alone,
Part of my heart dying there on the gravel road,
My body has moved,
With aimless motions,
In a daze,
And as it all settles in,
I am still here,
Like a put down dog,
Dying.
Apocalyptic Anticipation
I can’t bring myself
To do
The things I ought to do,
Even ought not to do,
Because I’m stuck,
In a groove of melancholic waiting,
Not really wanting,
Not knowing what to expect,
Or what to anticipate,
In a fast paced
Wait,
Idling in activity that seems so important,
Despite it’s triviality,
In apocalyptic anticipation,
For every moment
It is the end.
Burning Breath
I can’t breathe,
It’s allergy season,
A yearly occurrence
Yet still a fear arises,
With burning breath caught mid chest,
My mind fears another pathogen near,
That could further take my breath,
My life
Away
Precious Lasts
There is a loneliness
That resides in our close quarters,
An unspoken sadness,
An anger,
About the fear we speak of
But dare not name,
We are all knowingly closer to death,
And on the precipice, it is terrifying,
To see each other,
And wonder how long we have,
Before the unknown swallows again,
Before our hellos are really goodbyes,
The moments of nothing
Seem wasted,
And yet are our precious lasts,
To be with and be here in
New “Normal”
Return to normal?
Who has that power?;
To quell disease that now eradicates?;
To bring back lives since lost?;
To restore security in most anything?
How foolish to talk of such fantastical things,
When reality has been brutally clear,
This is the new normal,
My dear.
She of Letters 