On Every Day

Envelop me in camphor, like a child
Two, maybe three long generations back,
Watch how my eyes tear, sallow cheeks gone slack,
Noticing how I’m tender, holy, and mild.
I’ve been beset, bewildered and beguiled,
And maybe ended up somewhat off track,
Unmoored, unhinged, my front teeth turning black.
I’ve been reduced, rejected and reviled.

Don’t check the calendar. On every day
Some travesty occurs to slash, draw blood,
And leave our enemies deep in the mud
Without even a chance to slink away
And save themselves. It was the month of May
When I took sick, and called forth the Great Flood.