Ebola and the Death of Home
I did'nt know what to expect as a volunteer nurse, being used to,"hello Mr Smith just let me take your blood pressure," or " here's your dentures, " then.... busy with a thousand things.
but ebola caught me with my pants down, you know, the death, the death and the plastic clothes...the one hundred and thirty -two souls never to eat corn or make love or kiss the baby on the hand..now only putrifying bundles of lawyer-meat, buried quickly, buried deep, fugitives from the great heat.
and when I got home they thought I was a leper... sans heart,sans emotion, sans country.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
