We wait for tumors’ crude malignant growth
in brains, in breasts, in bones, in lungs, and limbs.
The cells’ descendants snub remedial
technique attempts. We wait for hearts to starve
from melancholy forced to apathy,
from plaque-blocked pathways—pure pathogeny.
We wait for dark dementia—wilt and wane
the intellect in logic, in language,
in recollection. We wait for foul plagues, 
immune deficiency, and viral strains.
We wait with roses-colored flesh, with wet
and tilting eyes, with steaming breath, with chests
collapsing, lifting, in apprehension.



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