Monday, August 25, 2008

rejection syndrome

initial signs misread,
you were too good to be true.
Quickly it was clear:
too early transplanted,
no proper controls,
no tests made--
my body is rejecting you.
As your presence fills
with cells fighting you off
like foreign material,
I wish it could have worked,
but really should have checked,
not fumbled both our charts.
An incompatible type,
we'll have to pull you out;
maybe you'll be replaced
with another person's part,
or maybe I'll live on
with some scars and empty space
somewhere near my heart

1 comment:

Paul Bernard said...

Yes. I can sympathise here. Good poem.