The First Born

The dad said it was "The Will of God." I say lack of decent healthcare.

The First Born


They pray with conviction,
Breathe deep, voices low
Move fast, feigning purpose
Skirts hiss, someone moans.

They murmur suggestions,
Old potions and charms
They mutter of hope
Spread their lies like a balm

They keep helpless vigil
And long for a sign
Of blood pumping faster
Of losing less time

No one mentions the doctor
Who trades lives for gold
As the little heart flickers
and new flesh grows cold