La Gripe Poem by Leon Agnew

Is everywhere.
Yes, sir.
Yes, ma'am.
La gripe
Is everywhere.
We're all
Going to
The meat processing plant
In the sky.
Where we will be sorted
Filed
Counted
Renamed
Died
Born
Living for ever and ever
Processed and perfect
Perfectly processed
Packaged
Made
Shipped
To the heavens.
Where we are
For ever
And ever.
I remember Earth.
And La gripe
And pain
Suffering
Death
Graves
Places
Forests
Where the dead will go
And board the train
To the great
Meat processing plant
In the sky.
Yes sir.
Yes ma'am.
We're all
Damned
By
Guess what?
La gripe.
The mother of influenza.
The mother of flu.
That is correct.
Yes sir.
Yes ma'am.
We're nothing to it.
But
Fodder
Chattel
Energy
Food for thought.
If thinking
Is what
La gripe
Does.
Or tends to do.
Or has done.
La gripe.
Good night,
My son
My daughter
My wife
My mother
My father
My life.
Hello
La gripe
And the meat processing plant
In the sky.