Caren Krutsinger Poet Narrative

This Plague was No Joke

Dr. Moody was discouraged, his job had taken a turn.
This was the third plague that hit Minnesota in twelve years.
People were dying in ditches, seeking relief from their open sores.
Frozen corpses with gaping mouths greeted him from town to town.

Optimism had died about three years back
he had no idea why he survived.
Three plagues, and he was one of the few who was still mobile.
Some were in wheelchairs; others had their limbs amputated.
A few had gone blind; these plagues were unpredictable and fierce.

He stopped in front of the farmhouse; checked the address one more time.
Got out his equipment and began the slow heartfelt climb onto their porch.
Since the plagues had started, he wondered if this was a plea for death call.
“In here,” a woman called. Her voice sounded hoarse.

He walked in and observed three huddled figures on the couch.
“Not them,” she told him.
Confiding that she knew she did not have much time.
She wanted him to raise her children. Dr. Moody was speechless.
He had already opened his home to fourteen homeless children.

This plague was no joke.

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