a poem by Felicia Haury 

The antiseptic beeps sound low 

As wheels roll slow 

Into the doom

Of dim lit rooms

I, apprehensive, distrustful

Yet still hopeful

That a cure nears 

A lump, some tears

A needle, reassuring words 

I think of birds 

White coats flying 

Living, dying

Don't forget to visit the GUA Shop: