Swab
inside
my nose
presses, swirls. Twinges,
twitches, runs like it’s bleeding.
I wait in lobby, till rest home screener
smiles. “Negative! Good to go!”
Grandmother, I only
do this
for
you!
She, Gilda, would run into wall -
he, Chevy, orchestrate fumbling fall -
simply to invoke chuckle, chortle,
titter, spontaneous guffaw.
Carol’s impersonation of lone cleaner,
Bob’s deadpan unsmiling demeanor,
spoke on some basic level to all -
providing service of social screener.
She, Joan, of clever deprecation -
he, Curly, of selfless indignation -
reached for compassionate challenge
in offering gift of spiritual inflation.
Ellen’s casual, sanguine comments -
Rodney’s roguish, insightful laments -
has shined everyday light and mirrored
without lingering hint of niggling offense.
Whatever their name happens to be
it’s not that difficult to see
they loyally and lovingly portrayed
life’s rhythm, rhyme, and absurdity.
So, in this day, a friendly shout
to the individuals whom without
we might never had opportunity to’ve seen
what this strange journey is really about.
My master is struggling his end is near
I'm ripped from his body pulled free and clear
My taxi is freezing and dark without life
My new master is preparing to go under the knife
What he will be like I need to know
For through my flesh his blood will flow
We both are dependent on each other to be
I can't live without him nor he without me
My new home is strange and I have a new face
I don't recognize anyone and I feel out of place
He floods me with poisons knowing I'm his screener
I should have known the grass wouldn't be greener
All change is not good but for me this too shall pass
As a liver that lives in a house made of glass
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