I too, don’t like it, this entry
into the subterfuge – I know
there is a laugh, a smile beyond
what my eye can see
and I long for return
to a normalcy of seeing
all of it – whether smirk or pout or goad.
I too, am weary
of this daily vigilance lest
the creep of microscopic
organism finds entry
into living a lung filled life
my breath a red too easily
passed around.
And I too, want to ditch
this year of death
and disconnect of
hollow legs and
emptiness – oh for the life
of a toad – hop, hop, hop,
oblivion consoles.
Anne's mediocre poetry 