Panic

One of the boys busts his chin earlier. They stitch him up. Only so much blood is enough to make one panic. I wonder if there were pools of blood during the earthquake. I wonder if there was enough time to soak it up.

I thought there was no external panic here. I thought people just moved on. I was not alone. I wonder if the man, who left pools of blood at the hospital floor may die tomorrow. I wonder if he is the only one who may die the next day. I wonder what it was like during the earthquake. I sit in the waiting room peeping through the OR door. His mother is held by two men and taken to him as he is loaded into the ambulance to be transported to the capitol. Blood leaks out of his new bandage. He eases me. He sits calmly. I am calm. Blood drips, even after he is bandaged, fast then slow. He is taken away. I write a poem about him.