Poem about Ebola

Treachery of Ebola

The terrible illness

smacks back at our most humane instincts:

virulent in the world's poorest nations,

where suffering's already so abundant,

passed on when we care for the sick,

clean up their vomit, blood, waste,

and when we touch, kiss 

and hold the suffering,

when we bathe, caress our dead,

prepare them for burial.

Killing our best and brightest,

most generous nurses, doctors, and helpers.

We wonder: Is God punishing the poor

for being poor? Is God punishing the good?

and how will the rich, privileged,

and healthy be judged?

[Bob Coughlin / 21 September 2014; Copyright 2014]


I realize that God is not punishing the poor (or the rich). In the poem, I try to get into the mind of people who would indeed question God about this tragedy.