Page 73 - MAY Poetry Anthology
P. 73



                    VIRUS IN THE AIR,
                  SPASMS IN MY BACK

           There's a virus in the air, but I can't see it.
           People are dying around me, but I can't save them.
           There are spikes pierced in my back,
           spasms, but I can't touch them.

           Heartbeats, hell pulsating, my back muscles,

           I covet in my prayers.
           I turn right to the left, in my bed, then hang still.
           Nails impaled, I bleed hourly,
           Jesus on that cross.

           Now 73 years of age, my half-sister 92,
           told me, "getting old isn't for sissies."
           I didn't believe her—
           until the first mimic words
           out of "Kipper" my new parakeet's mouth,
           sitting in his cage alone were

           "Daddy, it's not easy being green."

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