Poem by Phoebe Kate Foster

NO GERMS!SNEEZE INTO ARM OR TISSUEIt is I whose nameshould be on their listhere where wall signswarn to wash hands andwear masks, where weakand worn-out specimenswait to have their heartstranslated into blips and bloops,peaks and valleys, jagged linesindicating infernal internalseismic disruption.It should be me waitingfor the gloomy newsin this place where tablesdon’t provide popular magazines