Mission Accomplished

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED We dance, mutate and celebrate: another perfect host. The old make easy prey, we watch them gasp and slip away. And our kind are not averse to the odd doctor or nurse, regardless of their ages. But while the populace weeps and rages, the death toll turns, a thousand pages .We catch the young while on the run , target bathers soaking sun. Here’s to a babe in its mother’s arms. He takes no solace from our charms. We proliferate in lungs, leak bodily juices, giving neither apology nor excuses. It’s strike, strike and strike again. Attacking gaps in mask, gown or gloves, we seize our chances. The target’s cells weep blood, and slowly die. Our deadly dancers sigh and shrivel, too. But that’s what we were born to do. Others soon will take our places, embracing all the creeds and races. Decima Wraxall