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POETRY BOOK TWO: Dog Grrl!
Ol' Sin Nombre

From the deer mice, not mosquitoes,
Hantavirus’ victims fall,
When the rodents’ small excreta
Fills the air as aerosol;
Coughing, wheezing, chills and fever,
HPS has cast its pall,
I can’t breathe in, my lungs, edema,
Ol’ Sin Nombre’s come to call.

|| My Poetry ||