How many ventilators can you buy for the price of an Aircraft Carrier?

her eyes taped closed
to keep them from drying out
IV’s and NG’s going in
tubes draining
ventilators and blood pressure machines
so many tubes keeping her stable
so many tubes
can a person become a shell?
I can still see her

end of life support procedures
morphine drip to make her “comfortable”
gradient decrease in blood pressure maintenance
drifting off to eternal sleep

an impromptu improvised ritual
a heartfelt prayer
a hands on circle of family
touching her
a rosary’s recital

said my goodbyes earlier
I understand it was best to let her go
but couldn't stay to watch her last breath
after Dad and Tops
thought I’d be more prepared
thought I was all cried out

I never thought I'd be
a pack a day
kind of girl.

I've seen the school assemblies,
heard my mother's shrill voice,
Don't you know what those things will do to you?
I've heard about the tar and the ash
and the cancer and the ventilators.

But there's something
about smoke curling around itself,
warm and inviting in the sharp,
snow scented air,
tiptoeing around my head
like a house cat.

There's something dangerous in
the scent of smoke on my skin,
in the taste of ash on my tongue.
Something that seems to say
I am not the kind of girl to **** around with.

It's a secret, a sly smile,
something that is all mine.
It's a destructive tendency,
it's a bad decision.
But it's mine, mine, mine
to make.

The mouse in the maze is very weary.
It’s way too much concerted effort
Just to earn a grain of corn.
The route is always changing
And someone turns off and on the lights.
The music plays the same song, over
The humming of the ventilators
And the shutter bangs incessantly.

The mouse is tired of stupid games.
No one cares which way it runs,
Or how much corn drops into the bowl.
The smell of *** in the far back corner
Makes the air unpleasant to inhale.
The will to win another piece of corn
Battles with the need to find
The exit that is at the other end.

Notes have to be written down
Measurements and timings
Fill the logbooks of the staff,
As bored and weary as the mouse.
Protocols must still be followed
Finally the time clock in the hall
Clicks over to the magic hour
And mouse and men can all go home.
            ljm

By: Cedric McClester

I take a flu shot each and every year
And I had a pneumonia vaccine so I didn’t fear
Guess that’s why my *** wasn’t in gear
When the symptoms initially began to appear
I relied on RobiTussin instead
And wound up being a day from dead
When the ambulance was called I was code red
We’re off to Lenox Hill Hospital the driver said

Caught a bad case of pneumonia
Weeks before the Coronavirus hit
Which was something I thought that I couldn’t get
And it really had me feeling like a *******
But I was lucky I have to admit
As I lie there struggling to catch my breath
The hospital had plenty of ventilators left
No need to condole or to be bereft

My family gathered in intensive care
To the person they were acutely aware
That I didn’t have a lot of time to spare
Which gave them all a great big scare
But I told the woman in my life
That I would make it, see she was my wife
So she allowed the doctors to intubate me
That’s why today I’m pneumonia free

For a while it was a crap shoot I  must confess
When my temperature went up I became a hot mess
But the nurses and doctors were among the best
So they induced a coma so I wouldn’t digress
My chances of survival were a mere 50/50
And that kind of diagnosis just isn’t nifty
It was only when they decided to shift me
From the ICU that I began to heal swiftly



















Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2020.  All rights reserved.

A house

A house
without books
is a house
without windows and ventilators

The old house stands still.
Rot has set in.
A flying termite caught in the webs of a dead spider, sway to the shrill of a ceiling fan.
All things sway.
Dreams rise and suffocate in the mouldering  mortars
Falling on the adjacent tiled roof. 
They scream, laugh, make love, declare the infiniteness 
Of their finite existence through diatribes of reality and unreality.

They are passionate bunch, 
Bound by their common desire to be. And blood. 
And the house just is. It still is. 
Once there were sparrows in the ventilators. 
And envious bayas on the palm trees. 
The ripples in the pond sing their dark, merry tunes
Licking away its edges, 
And they shove and trample for the whiff of north wind.

Life persists in slow, lonely decadence. 
The cactus on the roof thrives in monsoon and in summer. 
Basil live and die, live and die trenched in the never ending circle 
Of micro-civilisation. 
The house harvests its own sustenance in the whispers among its bricks
That become a collective 
And a roar is heard. 
They pray to Earth.

The old house is defiant, 
The old house is tired. 
Its melting skin sizzles and stinks of industry of old, 
A glorious past always in the distant like the horizon, 
The promise of bright future exposed to the misery
That is naturalness of time. 
The hammer rusted, **** has grown over, 
They clinch onto the sickle like oxygen.

An older lady…No mask… arsenic and old lace
scuttling along…so I think to cross.
Just to give her more space.
“I haven’t got it…” she shouts, full bore, almost in my face
“No… but I might have - you just don’t know.
There’s no point in you having a go!”

“I’m wearing a mask to protect both of us
so I don’t know why you’re making a fuss.”
“I told you I haven’t got it… so you can just get stuffed”
Whoa… a minute!… Who’s rattled your bars?
Would you like a mask. I always carry a spare?
“You can just *******”, she said “ ‘cos I really don’t care!”

She’s the one who waves her stick at cars
and picks imaginary fluff off her coat…
So she needs to be looked out for… looked after.
Next time I’ll be on the look out. I’ll take special note
maybe go round the block the other way.
That way I won’t upset her; she’ll have a better day.

I know this situation is affecting everyone
in every country all around the world.  People get tetchy.
But that’s no good reason to abandon reason.
It’s rough, it’s tough - and even good manners are
sometimes not enough… So make time
for others who can’t make the best of things.

Best accept we’re in this for the long haul
because that’s what it’s going to be…
For a generation at least this will be
the way we have to live… balancing
breathing freely against economics,
against promises of socialising in the sun…

Then - No Fun!...No Frolics

Against drip-stands, ventilators and fears that run
deep into our county, our country… our world.
Here she comes again… “I ain’t got it, I ain’t got it!”
Good for you girl!

Wow, it turns out Trump was right.
I saw it on “the Onion” - posted overnight.

Scientists woke up today and the virus
was simply gone - the miracle - has happened.
And they said that Trump was wrong!

The once dying - started laughing
first responders broke into song
patients shrugged off ventilators
they can go back home where they belong.

That God has been so merciful
is a story ripped from scripture
and since Trump - the antichrist - is here
we can move on to the rapture!

I want to show you my heart, my whole heart
Don’t be shy it’s still beating so I’ll be fine take it
Take the part of me that’s been hurting for 7 years and counting
I’ve been counting on someone to understand my pain  
To understand the literal and physical hole in inside my chest, I need a doctor
So, please be the shrink to shrink this hole from my once whole heart, I need it
Knit and kneed your magic substances you’re so willing to give into my heart
The same you knew she needed seven years and counting
You knew about her previous pain of drug use
You knew insomnia leads to desperation
You knew that Xanax was easy to overdose on
You knew asphyxiation leads to many strokes
You knew ventilators can keep dead a person alive
I knew hugs are meaningless to a dead body but we still gave them to her anyway
I’m glad you’re locked up but I still want your professional opinion
Will squeezing my heart stop the pain from hole you made?
You’ve already squeezed the life out of one person so why not me?
Maybe it will stop me from bleeding affection into people that don’t love me
Maybe it will shrink my heart enough to close the gap that no one can fill
Maybe it will bring me one step closer to her embrace again
But that would be a waste wouldn’t it
It would waste of the sparkles she lit into my eyes, the strength she forged into my body, and the love she hugged into my heart
So, I’ll leave you with the blood she gave to me
I hope your oath lying hands burn from it and never forget the pain you left me
-A.P

In a place called Wuhan, a virus was born;
This great Chinese city, now ever forlorned.
'Corona', we called it and later renamed
As 'Covid-19' of unwanted fame.

It spread like wildfire from beast unto man
And further by air, sea, and on land.
"PANDEMIC!", a cry from the W-H-O,
The virus will travel wherever we go!

You must heed this alarm, just look all around
In sickness and sorrow, despair can be found.
No country is safe from this global threat
We give you a warning, tough times will be met!

Armour is on to fight the disease;
A hockey stick's length will prevent paying fees,
Embrace social distance to help stop the spread,
To keep us from sickness, or possible death.

Use N95 masks, gloves, smocks and I reckon
With washing of hands for a good 20 seconds
And no hugging, kissing, or shaking of hands
Social proximity has all but been banned.

Most stores are closed, our kids aren't in school
To beat this Mad Beast we must follow the rules.
We can't see our foe, but what we do see
Is something that hungers for you and for me.


It started with one but doubled each day
The war is upon us and thousands will pay.
Ventilators, doctors, and nurses we lack
To defend ourselves, and mount an attack.

If you have the training, come be our might:
A call to all able to march in this fight.
Retired health workers, many came 'round
All hands on deck to bring this Beast down.

The world has changed, yet must remain strong
So help one another, alone would be wrong.
We're all in this together, hold fast your faith,
And never forget the December '19 date.

4-13-2020

People are dying that
never died before. We have it
under control. Let’s inject
ourselves with Lysol. I always

treated the Chinese Virus
very seriously when I’m not swinging
my club in front of the t. I’d love to have
the churches packed on Easter. I don’t

believe you need 40, 000 ventilators. You
know, you go into major hospitals
sometimes they’ll have two ventilators.
We will win this war! Let’s open the country!

Common folks trembling at sore throats
Doctors working in raincoats
Presidents looking for scapegoats
Governments promising treasury notes, ventilators
vaccines and retribution
All in exchange for a fistful of votes
Human decency is certainly diseased
invalid, obsolete.

The poor and the wretched are hungry
The über rich worried about “industry”
TV channels scream “conspiracy”
Dictators helm “democracy”
Mankind’s collective descend into insanity
seems painfully complete.

You did not give
space, for a random kiss.
Winter loss?

I will not find you
in spring. The buried roots
of a fallen tree, fail
to wake up.

Days pass dying.
A soft retreat from
commitments. Slow poisoning.

The empty house.
You should plow through the memories
of unlived in dreams.

There is no cue.
How will you bring sparrows
to breed on ventilators.

locked down in our homes
whilst nature breathes clean fresh air
on ventilators.
22/2/2021

He came dancing across the waters
with his galleons and guns.
Cortez, Cortez. What a killer....

Neil Young's high-register symphony
of electric guitars carries
over the sound waves, the lonely,
mournful, ever-mutating melodic
line a message of death and waste
and loss. In it I hear an elegiac call
to the coyotes in the fields,
howling for companionship
and comfort from their
missing, flea-bitten pack.

A shaky, high-pitched, grief-laden
voice tells of Montezuma and his
Aztec nation, alive in an idyll of many
colors and nature's pristine harmony --
a utopia only the modern, romantic
mind could conjure out of the ruins
of its own civilization.

Rubble rots, strewn through
the ages. The Aztecs die,
victims of viruses and steel,
while we, too, gasp for air
on makeshift ventilators,
going under the charged,
electric waves of consciousness,
dancing breathlessly to
the beepless grave. What a killer....

History breeds only conquest,
only the tragic conflict of cultures,
equally innocent of the unknown,
equally guilty of lusting for the blood
of the Other -- whether gold-drunken
Spain or a mutant cell slipped
beyond the bounds of some
fly-infested Chinese wet market.
Progress ends only in destruction,
while we dream of utopia and idylls
and call it good. Cortez, Cortez....

The coyotes howl for comfort
and the lasting scent of prey.
In the morning, they will hunt,
rustling through high grasses,
while we will rise to Neil Young's
symphonic, electric refrain:
What a killer....

I have a dream that the coronovirus will be put to a complete hault. That no more lives would be lost. That no families will suddenly lose their loved ones. That this cornovirus will be the world together to rejoice in coming together and working as a whole. That God will bless this people and cure them. God knows im praying. God knows I'm trying to keep social distancing.  When there is not enough ventilators it becomes scary. Prayers.

(This poem can be sung to the tune of "If I Only Had a Brain" from THE WIZARD OF OZ.)

We can wash our hands completely
And socialize discreetly.
We have the wherewithal.
We should spare no expenses
To keep up our defenses
If the virus pays a call.

We can scrub down every finger--
So nothing bad can linger--
With rubbing alcohol.
Though our hands start to chafe now,
We feel that we are safe now
If the virus pays a call.

We can keep a social distance
To strengthen our resistance.
The task is far from small.
I hope you do not slug me
Just 'cause I won't let you hug me
'N case the virus pays a call.

It's not a sci-fi plot;
The problem's very real.
The virus can survive on many surfaces.
So tell me how that makes you feel.

Yikes!

We ought to be investing
In lots and lots of testing,
But someone dropped the ball.
We need negotiators
To find more ventilators
If the virus pays a call.

I can't wait till this is past us.
We CAN'T let it outlast us;
Let's make the numbers fall.
Be cautious and be wary
And do all that's necessary
If the virus pays a call.

-by Bob B (3-29-20)

The sirens are wailing
Again.
Where did the music go?
And the strident shrieks of laughter
From the streets below?

It won’t be long
Before someone you know,
Someone close
Is the subject of attention
From valiant masked men
And women
On the floors of battle
At ground zero.

They’ll throw centuries of medical missiles
At the enemy,
An elusive viral villain
Of ill-repute;
All to no avail.

They’ll plead to the mayor,
To the governor,
To the president,
For more gloves and ventilators,
For every means necessary
To protect and prolong life.

Many will die on the call of duty.

And the sirens will wail again...

Long after
The music stopped.

~ P

Would you choose to deny
me?  I can't breathe.  I am
filled with love for my family,
for God.  I am only old.
You will be too, you who
would triage my life out.

I contribute to my family.
I dig with both of the
hands God gave me in
the soil and grow beautiful
things.  I am flower fresh.

I am not broken.  No one
is broken.  You who think
you can save the life of
a younger person.  

Save Me.

I could be your mother.
Save her.  When you
make a choice remember
I was here first.  The Universe
is Random.  Tilt your
thought to  philosophy.

I have miles to go before
I sleep.  If you choose
the old ones, the infirm,
the besotted the young

Will remember you also

In

Time.


Caroline Shank


Prompt: the ethics of
triaging ventilators.

PLANET AMERICA IS VERY SAD NEWS
AMERICA IS IN A LOT OF TROUBLE
COME ON PRESIDENT TRUMP PLEASE
SUPPLY THE VENTILATORS ON THE DOUBLE

mark riordan poetic avenger facebook

today. A celebrity, the old folks
in the nursing home, a baby that could
have had a bright future, a doctor
on the front-line. I wonder who will

be next. Your guess is as good
as mine. This virus doesn’t waste any
time. Today we say goodbye to John
Prine. But the Patriots are flying supplies

in with jets. And the shortage of ventilators
are a threat. If this continues there won’t
be any room in the hospitals. There setting
up tents in Central Park for the overflow. It

look like a scene from Mash, long
ago. Some think this is set-up by Trump
to protect kidnapped children from the deep
states. People these days are more delusional

than ever before. And more polarized
than the north and south pole. I lost friends
over this that insist that it’s all a hoax. Denial
is the first stage in grief – so many are in disbelief.

Who's going to pull a
rabbit from the hat?

we could do with some magic.

Tragedy?
it might be,
I don't take this kind of thing lightly,
but, actually, there isn't a but
when they shut the town down.

What next,
troops on the street who'll
shoot at groups on street corners?

old people took off ventilators and
told to ******* and die?

life's an itch
and we try not to scratch
but we do.

IN AMERICA A TRUCK FOR THE DEAD
IN ITALY ITS AN ICE RINK
DEATH IS DEFINITELY AROUND US NOW
ARE WE REALLY ON THE BRINK



BEDS VENTILATORS MASK AND GLOVES
AMERICA IS IN SHORT SUPPLY
THE MAYOR OF NEW YORK
I THINK IS ABOUT TO CRY


mark riordan poetic avenger facebook

says the ***** president. Let’s
squeeze people in like sardines and
ignore this dreaded disease. Let’s get
everyone back to work so we can fill

up the hospital beds when there aren’t
enough ventilators to go around as people
gasp for breath. I want to take that ****-***
and lock him in wally-world or the

supermarket on a busy day or the laundromat
where people have no mind like him! I want to
see him suffering!

You did not give
space, for a random kiss.
Winter loss?

I will not find you
in spring. The buried roots
of a fallen tree, fail
to wake up.

Days pass dying.
A soft retreat from
commitments. Slow poisoning.

The empty house.
You should plow through the memories
of unlived in dreams.

There is no cue.
How will you bring sparrows
to breed on ventilators.