No Room for Panic
She
sees his unease,
a
disquietude rising,
sneaking,
creeping in,
the twitch,
tremble,
tremor
of unsteady hands,
the wobbly,
doddering gait.
He’s
having another attack.
Consternation’s
kicking up,
slipping
into agitation. Soon,
there’ll
be no reasoning with him
as all
sense is lost to sensation.
Surely,
something must be
Wrong.
He’s
certain he’s dying,
a
stroke, a heart attack –
take
his temp, listen
to his
pounding heart,
check
his BP –
something
real
something
deadly, but
there’s
no source to cite,
no
trigger to fault,
no rhyme
or reason
and
nowhere to run.
When
pressed for wherefores
he can’t
tell you why and
(no
matter what you say)
you
can’t convince him
why
not.
PSC
/ 2017-Apr
My offering for Day 8 of Robert Lee Brewer's Poem-a-Day
(PAD).
Assignment: a panic poem
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