Today in the US the Drumpf administration if ramming a vicious "health care" scheme down our throats. Untold numbers of people will die. Which got me thinking this morning of Lord Byron. You'll be questioning my leap but I often reference Byron, being somewhat of a Byron scholar. The man was essentially murdered by catastrophic doctoring, having been bled until he lapsed into a coma. I imagine he would view our inhumane "health care plan" with some trepidation.
Here is a poem I wrote a while back - it's from Byron's point of view. Hope you enjoy:
BYRON'S GHOST RECALLS A DREAM
I knew the place --
had been there once before
but couldn't quite recall
the village blanketed
with such a pall
as cloaked it now.
But then when last I lingered
in the vicinity of Missolonghi
I'd been disadvantaged
by mortality.
I saw a barren room
above the noisome swamp,
an anteroom -- a warrior
weeping on his shirt sleeve.
Even war it seemed must wait
while someone grieved.
Beside the rumpled bed
a bag of coin
to meet some poor
beleaguered servant's pay --
death leaves no end of disarray.
From bodiless advantage
every detail sprang to life --
the flaking white wash on the wall,
a pistol hidden from its owner,
a wool capote fallen to the floor,
a soup dish full of blood
upon the side board cooling
like a Christmas pudding.
I didn't waste a backward glance
to the former intimate acquaintance
sleeping late upon the lean camp bed --
I didn't feel the need.
What could be said was said
at our last meeting.
He made no comment at my leaving
but just kept on dreaming.
