A Sleep (poem)

A Sleep

The end of ability infected conductors

who let the trains roll cumbered to catch fire

dragging bodies

The end of ability infected farmers

who harrowed into highway tar

and streambeds until the ragged tires tore

to the rims

and the machines upended

The end of ability infected caretakers

who could not rise from their chairs to open doors

began to feel caring could have an end

buildings be evacuated

parking lots driven home from

and if never visited again

guilt and responsibility eroded

from the planet’s face

The end of ability infected the ones at home

the bills and the meals cooked

the washing and the trash walked outdoors

the question of weather

foam at the lead of a shallow wave

smoke at the lead of one smoldering

structures housing idle figures who will not serve

from the couch morning eyes spot a refugee crawled inside

A Sleep

Mercy

(2021, Stephanie Foster)