Infinity Pustule
There’s something about the runny nose,
the nasal drip that never goes
The febrile tremor, that ancient chill,
fevers that die, fevers that kill
The buba that grew on many a groin,
and spread the pox from loin to loin
The rash has always been a friend,
kissing our skin centuries on end
Bugs went on ships, on decks so damp,
giving sailors the diarrhea cramp
Moist and sick was the soldiers’ tent
as humming mosquitoes chased their scent
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Lungs, livers, guts — such cozy nests,
for bacteria, parasites, fungi, pests
Pains and aches, through time and space
They love us all, no matter our race
It crippled armies, it inspired art
the plague’s been with us from the start
The species barrier is but a sieve,
was, is, will be the reason we grieve
The wrath of God is eons old,
before the biblical locust was sold
The asteroid struck, we’re here by chance,
alas, with microscopic monsters we dance
You and me, rats and fleas,
jiving in the discotheque of disease
This poem has been published by Penumbra (USA) and San Antonio Review (USA) in May 2023.
