Mesothelioma...

The flaking shed from the ceiling
like flurries of snow in November…
Lightly and deliberate,
as if on a covert mission.
Barely be seen, but always heard;
the lungs always know;

Over time the gradual flaking
becomes the terminal illness,
for behind the home that houses
minerals with lethal fiber,
are homes that house Asbestos
and Mesothelioma…

So many victims recorded,
So many tomb stones laid,
Too many people exposed
just ask the lonely widows
and fatherless children
about Tuesday, September eleventh-
of the year two-thousand-one;
their stories will chill your spine-
to the marrow…it will steal your breath;
as it did to these altruist victims,
heroes, each and one;
for they must have realized
as the death count mounted like moss,
on Stonehenge.
And all they could do is wait,
and pray the symptoms pass them by;
wondering, fretting with every breath:
Is it me? My God, I was coughing all night.
The lungs always know.