Miracle of Modern Medicine and Demonic Itching
It crept along inside her like a long-
Lost angel Jesus couldn’t cure. The wretch
At worst had withered wings and lost its song.
Inside her breast the devil couldn’t stretch
And couldn’t fledge its arrows. They could not
Send out their filth to other parts like bone
Or brain, and so its evil, crawling, fought
Its way through blood and made its vessels groan
In veins’ attempts to block the siege. The sly
Archangel, though, grew scales to help it scrape
Along inside her skin, invaded thigh
In greed, then turned her skin to itching crepe.
That’s not quite true. The morphine caused at last
That irony in treatment’s counterblast.
~ Phillip Whidden
by phillipw | Mar 6, 2025 | BR, CA, MA, WH |