Poem 30 Revised

Fever begins in the mouth—a tongue press’d

On the teeth, sand caked to the gums—your thumbs

Way-in-the-back crushing your molars to dust.

//In the eye—fever vows lies, that others are sweating

Others are pale, the man there beside you has let loose a wail,

//Coughs comforts from deep-deep in the throat,

These, not from a fever—no—not on your lips,

The lady beside you has covered her chips

//In the mind, a refuge of faith, not sick contagious,

Please hand me a tissue, hay fever or vent dust

List yourself issues. See, nothing at all, lean on the guard rail

Rest by the wall, this isn’t a fever, you’re not really ill

If it were your neighbor, board windows—take action!

But since it’s your fever you hope for compassion.

—ECW

 

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