Once, happier people lived here
in the gray building
Now, death moves silently towards other creatures,
those with typhoid, who moan and writhe
in their own diarrhea,
who lie and don't understand
why they are being fed bread and margarine.
I enter and become silent.
"You shiny new doorknobs,
you pretty painted walls in the bright ward,
can you make up for the stench of excrement?
Can you appease the hunger
of those who are ashamed of their underwear,
and brought here to die,
day by day?
The paint looks at me
and doesn't answer.
"Why? I don't understand why!"
It seems the doorknob would say,
when it opened for me,
a free soul, with a full stomach,
"I can tell you
and then you will come to me!"