Falconer’s Fever

The gavel falls, the Senate cheers,

As chaos whispers in their ears.

A lawyer now, in charge of health,

No science, no cares just name and wealth.

A child once wept in shadowed halls,

As gunshots echoed through the walls.

A father lost, a world turned black,

A son who would never quite turn back.

The needle called, the high was deep,

The ghosts of grief don’t let you sleep.

A work of worm art, his mind, they say,

Yet pieces chipped and fell away.

A wife undone, her cries unheard,

The vows he broke, the final word.

She left this world, the pain too wide

Addiction, The weight of trust, too much to hide.

And now, a man of birds and sky,

Who lifts his arm and lets them fly.

He spies a cub, a tale to weave,

A staged mishap the fools believe.

A chainsaw roars, the ocean wails,

A whale’s last breath, blood in bales.

He straps the skull atop his van,

A office relic now for such a man.

The vaccines? Well, who needs those?

Let polio waltz and measles grow.

In Louisiana, nine little Cajuns lie still,

Unjabbed, unshielded against their will.

The past once warned, but who recalls?

When sense gives way to marble halls.

A man who whispers plague-born schemes,

Now holds the nation’s health in dreams.

A virus laughs, the fever climbs,

The Senate nods, infected times.