I recognize a cultural motif
concerning breathing. Millions have awoke
to knees-on-necks and choke holds, and the grief
of systematic bias. Victims spoke
forever who were muzzled and unheard,
now constrained to orate through a mask.
Compromised by virus or absurd
denying science, breath becomes a task.

I’m short of breath myself, but that’s because
I smoked too many years; I’m stupid/smart.
Ignoring symptoms, breaking natural laws,
my habits have impaired a vital part.
Of late I’m feeling, over and again,
the benefits of free-range oxygen.

This entry was posted in Aging, Civics, Coronaverse, Health, Poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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