HUMPTY DUMP T

by Mickey J. Corrigan

A microscopic view of 293T cells derived from embryonic kidneys, which several companies are using to develop Covid-19 therapies. The treatment for Covid-19 received by Mr. T***p—a cocktail of monoclonal antibodies he described as a “cure” in a celebratory video posted on Twitter—was developed using human cells derived from a fetus aborted decades ago. Photo credit: Juan Mabromata/Agence France-Presse — Getty Images via The New York Times, October 8, 2020

I wasn't born yesterday

I wasn't born at all

sacrificed for the future

sacrificed on the steel table

a precious budding knot

of unfolding potential

of stem cells used

to create the line

to create the path

to saving human lives

not mine I was just 

enough for the 293T

enough for the Per.C6

cells from the laboratory

cells from the dark years 

in secret dingy rooms

brave men in white coats

brave women in masks

brave enough to help

young girls weeping

salty ocean tears, all

in fear for their future

in fear for their lives

I didn't have one

so decades later—

decades of growth

decades of greed

decades of bloat—

he could be saved

he could live on

breathless and hardened

fat egg that won't break

perched on a wall of power

on a balcony above us

casting aspersions and lies

with elite impunity

with no responsibility

no respect for ideals

the common good 

I gave my life for

what he disregards—

laws made to be broken

laws like offshore trawlers

laws to be scoffed at—

lives cut short by whim

lives cut short by him

but not his

life

saved by others' sacrifices 

like mine

like yours

Originally from Boston, Mickey J. Corrigan writes Florida noir with a dark humor. Novels include  Project XX about a school shooting (Salt Publishing, UK, 2017) and What I Did for Love a spoof of Lolita (Bloodhound Books, 2019). Kelsay Books recently published the poetry chapbook the disappearing self. Grandma Moses Press will publish the poetry chapbook Florida Man later this year. 

THE DESTRUCTION OF ANYWHERE

by David Feela

The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold
And released lethal doses of chemical gold;
And the corpses in white shrouds could not testify
When Assad shook his fist: all the dissidents lie.

So Death spread its wings without making a sound,
no staccato of gunfire, no bombs shook the ground.
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill
And their bodies convulsed before growing quite still.

No gashes or wounds, no bloody revolution;
They died to save bullets, a thrifty solution.
And the UN, they came, took the samples away
To be tested in labs before bodies decay.

And the streets of Damascus are quiet tonight,
And the militants home while they wait for first light;
And how sad the last volley of lies to be hurled
Has melted like snow in the glance of the world.


David Feela writes a monthly column for The Four Corners Free Press and for The Durango Telegraph. A poetry chapbook, Thought Experiments, won the Southwest Poet Series. His first full length poetry book, The Home Atlas appeared in 2009. His new book of essays, How Delicate These Arches  , released through Raven's Eye Press, has been chosen as a finalist for the Colorado Book Award.