The Hospital Ward Global Pandemic 2020. A poem by Cathal Mac Thréinfhir

Stripped back, the sheets fever wet,
lying face down,
a pillow under the groin,
raises the hips upward.

Nappied like babies,
intubated by mouth,
the infected fight.

The brightly lit,
sanitised wards, the
PPE suited medical staff
fighting for every life.

Tubes, breathing equipment,
the flickering, beeping,
and lighted panels,
of ventilators, and monitoring equipment
mark and referee the fight.

The random caprice
of the virus kills quickly,
as lives are measured out,
by the toned beat of a monitor.

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