Ted Littleford
Wife still asleep all tucked in the bed
Turn on the TV, nearly a hundred thousand dead
Morning fresh and polished like the first day of creation
Families choose between burial and cremation
Leaders boast, We beat it, open up, be bold
So many children will never grow old
That one, unmasked, declares, Here today, gone tomorrow
In the house he passes sits a woman in eternal sorrow
And how about me this fine spring day?
Do I weep or do I find another way?
Stay inside, read my book in sheltered gratitude
Or volunteer, finally, perhaps give blood?
I must give back, of course, but also do something for me
So the wise folks counsel on TV
Which is why I will turn it off for now
And climb back into bed, rest a bit more, we three
Myself, my wife, and this low-grade PTSD.
Ted Littleford