She's known her for only a few weeks,
Maybe a month, it's sort of a blur
That should drip down her cheeks,
But only smears her vision instead
As she blinks away the disappointment that
Must be all she feels.
Because she knows better than
To get attached when
Everyone she meets on the street is sick,
Hacking up their life in little red drops that
Count down the weeks until
It's only her walking the streets because she can't get sick and
Die like everyone else and
Why her alone and not that girl too?
They were both young and gasping so, so clearly
When they ran up the stairs with groceries,
Which had been left to rot with their owner in the backroom.
They were both fit in fancy dresses from empty stores
And laced-up boots that fast-food jobs wouldn't buy but the end of the world could.
She was fine, vintage comic book in hand,
Golden ribbons trailing from her hair as she giggled
And their shoulders shook, bumping against each other
As laughter unfurled in the air.
It isn't fair,
Because she'll be fine,
One of those lucky survivors who'll
Always walk into a quiet apartment on her own.