Sick Ward

By: Frank De Canio

I’m desperate for a transplant, having lost

the stomach for living. So many friends

have passed on in the past year. Pressure’s cost

me so much wear, sutures hardly make ends

meet. But the organ donor doesn’t match

my disheartened body’s type. An athlete’s

won’t make one strong, anymore than a patch

of green can bypass obstructed paths. Streets

still won’t be clean. Can a plastic surgeon

eliminate the stretch marks of the soul?

Water in deserts won’t help buds burgeon.

And though transfusions make the wounded whole,

can they heal the dying? I’m losing blood

so fast I’d soon as wallow in its flood. 


Frank De Canio was born & bred in New Jersey, He works in New York, loves music of all kinds, from pop to opera, from Bach to Amy Winehouse, and attends a philosophy Café Philo, (in lower Manhattan, New York).

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