Jun 2020
She is running chronic fever,
Low grade but constant, like the hum of the HVAC at the beginning of July.
She coughs and spits, constantly clearing her throat, hacking away at the never-ending buildup of thick mucus.
Her speech is low and gravelly, praying this pain is heard by her extended family.
She is physically, visibly ill, sick to the nth degree.
The antibodies fight and claw, scrapping with the disease to fight the virus.
The virus always prevails.
He always wins, and there is nothing she can do to stop it.
She keeps asking, “what’s going on, where is the vaccine?” hearing the same story, same excuse:
“It just ain’t ready yet. Here take this pill, take this drink, take this hit, give your mind a much needed break from the pain that you feel.”
Voices are chanting over and over in her head:
“No relief, no peace, the virus, defeat!”
He doesn’t listen, too concerned with his real agenda.
He hears your pleas, cosigns your cries,
begs for your forgiveness, all while refusing to look you in your eyes.
When you sing a song, he listens, hearing only dollar signs,
Cashing checks on your pain, refusing to pay any fines.
To him, the bandages have helped mend the sores,
“You have made progress, what is it you are still fighting for?
Sure it is tougher, and there are still some hurdles to leap,
But keep ya head up and remember to turn the other cheek.”
She feels like her life is a lie, “did I make any progress if the virus won’t die?”
He said he DON’T discriminate against who gets the disease,
That “if you work hard enough, you can beat the odds, defy God,
And even have a place at the table right there next to my mom.”
She has hope that one day she will win the fight,
That the fever will be lifted, and she can live a long and healthy life.
Her condition has turned for the worst, and he acts like he cares,
But will he continue his compromise and stance in solidarity,
Or repeat over and over and over again the cycle of false prosperity.
She is not alone in her fight against the virus.
We all have a piece of the disease in our bones.
The virus looks like us, sounds like us, smells like us,
dances and plays like us, the virus lives like us, laughs like us.
The virus defines us.
The virus is U.S.
Low grade but constant, like the hum of the HVAC at the beginning of July.
She coughs and spits, constantly clearing her throat, hacking away at the never-ending buildup of thick mucus.
Her speech is low and gravelly, praying this pain is heard by her extended family.
She is physically, visibly ill, sick to the nth degree.
The antibodies fight and claw, scrapping with the disease to fight the virus.
The virus always prevails.
He always wins, and there is nothing she can do to stop it.
She keeps asking, “what’s going on, where is the vaccine?” hearing the same story, same excuse:
“It just ain’t ready yet. Here take this pill, take this drink, take this hit, give your mind a much needed break from the pain that you feel.”
Voices are chanting over and over in her head:
“No relief, no peace, the virus, defeat!”
He doesn’t listen, too concerned with his real agenda.
He hears your pleas, cosigns your cries,
begs for your forgiveness, all while refusing to look you in your eyes.
When you sing a song, he listens, hearing only dollar signs,
Cashing checks on your pain, refusing to pay any fines.
To him, the bandages have helped mend the sores,
“You have made progress, what is it you are still fighting for?
Sure it is tougher, and there are still some hurdles to leap,
But keep ya head up and remember to turn the other cheek.”
She feels like her life is a lie, “did I make any progress if the virus won’t die?”
He said he DON’T discriminate against who gets the disease,
That “if you work hard enough, you can beat the odds, defy God,
And even have a place at the table right there next to my mom.”
She has hope that one day she will win the fight,
That the fever will be lifted, and she can live a long and healthy life.
Her condition has turned for the worst, and he acts like he cares,
But will he continue his compromise and stance in solidarity,
Or repeat over and over and over again the cycle of false prosperity.
She is not alone in her fight against the virus.
We all have a piece of the disease in our bones.
The virus looks like us, sounds like us, smells like us,
dances and plays like us, the virus lives like us, laughs like us.
The virus defines us.
The virus is U.S.
