Allergies

by Glen Martin Fitch

It doesn't have to be
a germ at wait.
Just anything
my body thinks is strange,
some substance
I inhaled or touched or ate
and instantly
my body starts to change.
My skin grows hot or cold.
I sweat or shake.
My head becomes
too heavy for my spine.
I gag.
I gasp.
My muscles cramp and ache.
All this
for what may really be benign.
I marvel at
each ready white blood cell.
I'd give them
shiny metals to parade.
They're on patrol
for agents to dispel,
defend me well
and seek to be of aid.
We must maintain the best defense
and yet our fear
might be more harmful
than the threat.

From: 
8/11




Glen Martin Fitch's picture

ABOUT THE POET ~
Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."


Last updated August 23, 2011