poem

– First published in Drawn to the Light Press, Issue 9, June 2023

I’m crying in the street now,
and I’m dancing; I’m alive!
But you’re dying and I see him,
and my nerve takes a nosedive.

So often does he walk here,
mask of perfume, beak of death…
My feet will not stop dancing,
and you will not stop your breath.

Let’s trip the light fantastic,
we’ll outrun him yet, you’ll see.
His herbs and poisons – all the 
same – avoid them, stay with me.

The show must go on always,
our old commedia dell’arte;
spectacles and carnivals,
take my hand and I’ll take heart.

I’m crying in the street now,
yes, I’m dancing, please back off.
But the doctor keeps on coming,
and you cannot stop the cough.