Endocarditis Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

We placed a camera,
down through the tube
they call esophagus,
and aimed it at her heart.
I held the tube,
it was for her,
and I would keep
one in my hands
if it did glow
with fiery heat.
There was a small
but still, a leak,
the pulmonary valve,
which is the best one can
and would expect.
Once past the age of birth
it matters less,
but now we wait.
Will there be staph
that leaves its hiding place,
to swoop and colonise,
to maim and kill,
by squatting on the edge,
to cut and strip
until the pressure drops
and hope as well as life
forever stops.