FREE

not from the monthly
menstrual cycle
of bills bleeding
me to death--
Sicilian rent,
Cable's stick-up
without a gun,
Con Ed's
air-conditioned nightmare
of need running
through tubing of oxygen masks;
not from this cage
of skin
where microbes dance
& diseases sing
their own special tunes,
& a war of instincts rage
against an overdrawn bank account
of hormones, enzymes, & synapses.

But let me not be so personal
& selfish
on this day
of all days
when celebration
fouls the air
& sits in mouths
like embers
& ash.
Think of the heron
& the tit mouse,
majestic & trivial,
bound in a joint pursuit
chained to the freedom
of survival,
and granted
by a god
they know nothing
about.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2018