Disabled Odyssey

If only the insects would die,

and the sand keep its seat.

If only the ambulances would stop

arriving, and the patient

remove her helmet, you

might find something to feel

again. The river fills the mouth

before the ocean. Too fat

to fit on a gurney, the rotten

leg is wrapped and suspended.

If only we hadn’t waited,

she thinks. If only we all had

winter-colored smocks

and syringes for put-in,

we wouldn’t miss the exit

signs submerged in fog

or require quarantine.

Thirty days would be enough.