I once had a flatmate...


Malaria



Night after night
The doctor returned home,
Wearied by hunger,
Adrenalin dragging her home
By the scruff
Of her dirty neck.
No time to eat, sleep,
Wash even,
Because
She had to find
The cure
Before all Africa
Died.

"Lost another one."
She said.
"Inserted the tube
Into the wrong valve,
Never recovered."

She had no tears,
Steeled by harsh experience,
She lay down on my
Magic blue sofa
And slept,
Dreaming of a
Green Africa,
A happy Africa,
Where no one
Starved or suffered.

She had a mission
And the guts
To grind
And find
Her Holy Grail,
The cure
To the greatest plague
Of poor Africa.



Poetry by Esti D-G
Read 968 times
Written on 2014-08-24 at 15:44

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I wonder if she is now involved in the even more dangerous plague that has hit Africa, Ebola? A person dedicated to that extent is one to be admired. You wrote a good poem for her.
2014-08-24



i like this poem about the forgotten continent

great and poignant write Esti
2014-08-24