Plague Poem for Day Sixty. A poem by J.K.Durick

Test results are always a problem. I remember
back in school my teachers passing tests back,
going down the rows placing the papers down
on our desks and commenting on them. It was
a quiet time, anticipating results that always
seemed beyond my control. In college teachers
posted grades outside their offices or out on
a bulletin board for all to see; I got our results
and everyone else’s, so I knew where I stood
in the class, measured up or down – the results
were there and any comments just implied.
Now, the tests I took yesterday were of a different
kind, the kind doctors prescribe, send us off to
to have blood drawn, literal blood this time, not
the school kind. In the hall outside the lab I was
stopped by a chubby woman typing at a desk,
she wanted my temperature but could not stand up
to take my forehead’s so she checked the temperature
of my neck instead. Covid 19 free, they drew my
blood, commented on how their business has slowed,
and then wished me well. Taking tests is not getting
results; they came later: a nurse voice on the phone
changing my meds again and trying to be vague
about what the results were and what it might mean,
too high blood pressure, failing kidneys, but not
coronavirus — and they want me back for more tests
– and the results again, as I said, test results are
always a problem.