"Why is everyone down with the flu, mamma? Oh, but that's what it means to be alive, my love."
Photo by the National Cancer Institute: Unsplash.com
There’s something about the runny nose,
the nasal drip that never goes
The febrile tremor, that ancient chill,
fevers that die, fevers that kill
The buba that grew on many a groin,
and spread the pox from loin to loin
The rash has always been a friend,
kissing our skin centuries on end
Bugs went on ships, on decks so damp,
giving sailors diarrhea cramps
Moist and sick sat the soldiers’ tents
mosquitoes hummed and chased their scent
Lungs, livers, guts – such cozy nests,
for yeast, coli, fungi, and pests
Pains and aches, through time and space
they love us all, no matter our race
It crippled armies; it inspired art
the plague’s been with us from the start
The species barrier is but a sieve,
was, is, will be the reason we grieve
The wrath of God is eons old,
before the biblical locust was sold
The asteroid struck, we’re here by chance,
with micro monsters we must dance
You and me, rats and fleas,
in the discotheque of disease.
Ashwini Gangal is a media journalist from Mumbai, India, who now lives in California. On most days she's a bumbling migrant desperately looking for her literary voice, her sanity and her own brand of genius. She recently quit her full-time job as managing editor of a business daily to pursue her passion—words, rhymes, stories, poetry, make believe. She’s also passionate about mental health, gender-power dynamics and all animals except humans. She’s an insatiable reader. Empathy is her super-power. “Infinity Pustule” was previously published by Penumbra May 11, 2023.