ICU

Gravity has no affection,
Privileged as it may seem,
We've long been weighed by it
Like African mothers with sagging tits.
To drag around tardy feet with shipwrecks
tied on the lower waist is nothing but a drag;
and we have all day.

But there we have Atmosphere to thank.
For hospital wards are busy with patients death,
Stillness awaits the heart on waiting rooms.
Crawling on spaces left, breathing among corpses.
The slightest of hope offered by Fifty- fifty.
Always in itself a mystery:
Just like falling for the obvious.