WAITING FOR TRANSPLANT
Some lie, pumps pushing blood
into dying hearts, others
sit with leathered lungs,
each breath a victory.
On the television
in your room, we watch
armored tanks in Waco
ram holes into walls, hoses
pump in gas, the devoted
don masks, wait to die
while buildings burn.
The machine by your bed
keeps time. . . 120 beats
per minute.
Common Journeys
