The scientist is so weird—and he owns this place:
The beakers burning, and monkeys bouncing
In their cages. The next magic is in here somewhere,
He says. But is he really the guy?
He’s handsome, and women find him sexy at lunch.
Lightning bends as it crosses the window on his ceiling,
And it raises the sleeping skin in the green of his
Greenhouse..
He grows things, this dashing prince.
Where are you from, patient zero?
What brought you in to us today?
The flag flying above the clinic is ours. The fly
Is infectious. You, through the archway, which is Gothic,
Must dream of a life without all this science,
As you look ahead.
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