THE PLAGUE: SAN FRANCISCO, 1981 By by long-time friend John McConnell The plague swept down upon us like a drone, Imbuing all our lives with death or grief. Unrecognized, the pestilence Infected or impacted all our lives. The preachers said it was God’s righteous wrath, A judgment for our perverse wickedness. One orthopedic surgeon turned her back And publicly refused to treat the sick. Without compunction, landlords ruthlessly Threw tenants and their goods into the streets. Sons by embarrassed parents were disowned, Because the illness made denial moot. There was no cure nor remedy to give, Reprieve from wasting or disfigurement. Mauve cancerous lesions branded faces. Masks were worn to guard against Pneumonia. Dazed in our lack of knowledge, unprepared. To cope, our first response was hesitant. But love, annealed by persecution, soon Made caregivers and brothers of us all. Though staggered, we stepped up to fill the void, Providing services where there were none, Providing care, assuaging suffering. Throughout a decade we did not retreat. A generation died; we watched and wept Beside their beds. The government looked on, And feared to fund research or grant relief. The President deigned not to speak of AIDS. Our far-flung families disengaged themselves. Repressing interest in the futile fight. Their children fought, and, feigning ignorance, They withheld inquiry and sustaining strength. And yet, in spite of all, we remnant wait; We persevere in loneliness, bereft Of lovers, partners, friends, a band of peers With whom to share our stories in old age. md09.quartz.synacor/service/home/~/San%20Francisco%2C%201981.pdf?auth=co&loc=en_US&id=109915&part=2
Posted on: Wed, 14 Aug 2013 04:04:21 +0000
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