SOLSC 8: A Workday Poem

Tied to her laptop

The copy editor addresses language.

How to gracefully ID a writer

Whose first book has the same title

As his blog.

How to spell Uyghurs (or Uighurs).

Should she leave that list of names

In all caps,

Or normal upper and lower case?

Which version of the story she was sent

Is the one she should work on?

After an hour of work,

She takes a break,

Goes for a walk,

Stops for a Covid test,

Just in case.

 

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I’m participating in the 15th annual Slice of Life Challenge over at Two Writing Teachers. This is day 8 of the 31-day challenge.  It’s not too late to make space for daily writing in a community that is encouraging, enthusiastic, and eager to read what you have to slice about.  Join in!

 

 

Poems for Before I Die, 2

I will die.

I am a human.

Death is always the end

of each human’s story.

Death is there,

Invisible,

Not announcing itself,

Waiting for its chance.

Sometimes it will catch you

Unaware

The sudden heart attack

The massive stroke

Blood clots wandering

through veins, arteries, capillaries.

Sometimes it bangs on your body,

The breathlessness that alerts you

To those blood clots

Collecting in your  lungs.

The abdominal pain that alerts you

To the cancer on some organ

that’s playing Bach’s Requiem.

The cough that whistles

Lung cancer.

Sometimes it’s caught by surprise,

the mammogram,

the pelvic smear,

the EKG.

So many diseases

Waiting to sneak up on you.

If you thought about them

All of the time

There would be no future.

Usually Death comes singly.

You might not know anyone

Who died

All of last year,

Or the year before.

Pandemic is Death made global.

It waves its name in front of your face.

It prances and cavorts and plays

With the doctors and nurses

Who stand between we humans

And Death.

Pandemic assaults everyone

Whether you get sick or remain well.

You are marked

by the fear

by the anticipation

by the relief

of waking up each morning,

Still breathing.