A Plague at the Sink
Humans are not
without their diseases
Some physical maladies
have their inoculations
for prevention
some have other medical cures
or none at all
The disease of old age
has no cure
There is no hindrance
to the advance of time
Its toxicity is memory
of ingratitudes
and wrongs against others
The symptoms rage
in the lonely darkness
with no physical pains
It is the soul set afire
No matter how deep
our head sinks in prayer
for forgiveness
the flames lick at us
with their raspy tongues
raking each moment
as if we'd been fed
through a grater
Creation is a temporary salve
music
art
poetry
nature
a change in how
we treat others
making amends
where possible
These reduce
the terrors
as dishes are washed in the sink
Barry G. Wick
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