The public health announcement
of the impending threat of a virus
was received by the adamantine population
like a reminder to file taxes:
impending, unpleasant, and remote.
The silence was tangible.
But a healthy child died:
then windows closed, and
the air grew still; electricity
gripped nerve ends, forcing
clumsy giants to assail
the submicroscopic terror
like birds screeching the call to
return to the nest before
the rising wind would dash
wings to ashen death.
Now we wait, until again
the electric terror digs in
and adamantium
is annealed in blood.
