coming out
only at Night
hiding behind a
Magical Moon Moustache
***
Better to be a chicken and have the sense
to peck, scratch and kill
the sick among us
to save the rest.
At least the strength to drive them from our beds
Without
Endless conversations, self-help, pills and second chances
That turn to
Third, fourth, fifth.
What do they reply when the sick pleads
“Just one more chance, please!!?"
“Cluck, cluck, cluck, this is going to hurt you more than it will hurt me.”
***
such is Pain
that shamelessly invades
unlocked ears
burns through
lungs
bitterly dances
across the tongue
squirms and writhes
in the gut
ravages the eyes
***
