More Poems

Immune
These people—well they’re used to it.
The coming and going.
Composure tip-top with their white coats clean
They must be bred for it or really mean
These people—they sure must be tough
I wonder if there comes a point where enough is enough.
My Turn
When I die I want a party.
Bar-mitzvah style would be nice.
When I die I want people [...]