And again she reports in rasps Wrought a cigarette in hand.

Though, she’s only five years The younger, though, the miasma has taken Her hand And prior her sickly kiss upon My brow.

She called it her covenant - “Revenge,” For all she’d ever known was at Death’s doorstep, Save me, And the air we shared.

Air and regurgitated by the: Buses, the bludgeons, the birds, And the bias, People of only, and people, That hurt.

The ash then falls from her fingers, And soon I know I’d say

“Goodbye.”

But, this is not my country and not my place to fight for causes I know nothing about.