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Aftertaste
By ROSS WILSON

Covid comes up every so often
though much is a blank or a blur
or something sour in a cup
that when you swallow you wear
the aftertaste in a grimace.

Drop a detail on the floor
and like a match tossed to straw
dark corners are lit on what we saw:
how sick the patients were!
Would there be enough ventilators?

Were we safe? Anxious yelling
don’t come near me as you ran
for a shower, clothes stuffed
into a dissolvable bag you ram
into the machine on a high wash.

The 95th Anniversary Appeal
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