The Cerebral Catalyst

Then one day,
reports began arriving
of an upstart new threat;
having been previously confined to
hospitals
and largely ignored,
MRSA was making a play
for larger scale annihilation
of the dominant species.

A sparrow was sent to investigate.

"MRSA?" the bird tweeted, happening upon
the undulating mass in
the locker room of a high school.
He glanced at the clipboard
tucked under his arm,
provided by the Bird Council.
"Or do you prefer
the unwieldy moniker of
Methicillin-resitant Staphylococcus aureus?"

The bacteria gave a
sleepy sideways glance
and yawned,
extending flagella. "MRSA
is just fine. And you sir,
I know, are the fabled winged carrier
of the Bird Flu virus."

The sparrow sniffed, declining to offer
a claw.
"We'd rather you use the term
Avian Influenza, or simply,
the Superflu."

"Hmm," droned the bacteria, rippling.
"Such happenstance. They have been
calling me the Superbug."

"We are aware."

"Well, great," the bacteria dismissed,
turning toward the nose of a football player.
To the sparrow,
he did not appear to be moving.
"I must be on my way."

"Race you," spat the sparrow.
"To where?" inquired the bacteria.
The sparrow smiled. "Why, to the end, of course."

A plan was made,
a time agreed,
and all of the pandemics lined up
to witness this clash of titans.

"3, 2, 1, go!" shouted Ebola,
waving a black and white checkered flag,
fashioned lovingly by SARS.

The sparrow chuckled to himself
and bowed to his comrades.
A grin curled on the beak of the crow
and very little attention
was paid to the bacteria,
whose fimbraie fluttered as he
chugged along the track.

The bird strolled, pleased with himself. "Stupid no-nucleus Firmicute. He's forgotten
that I can fly." Off to the side of the road, the sparrow spotted a patch of dirt. The
sun was high in the sky and he would have time for a nice roll. He followed this with
the slaughter of a worm and then let years pass. His place in the race was taken by
a gull, and subsequently by a heron. The crowd of assorted plagues tapered off,
bored.

The sun started its descent
and the heron was struck
by the dramatic light on its feathers. "It is time,"
she thought, "to end this."

The bacteria,
lurching toward the finish line,
heard the flapping of wings
before its competitor landed
neatly across the
ticker tape.

"I believe that is cheating,"
the bacteria droned,
though he did not care much
anymore.

The heron reached over the
painted yellow line to caress
what it assumed was
MRSA's cheek.

"Leisurely does it every time,"
she cooed. "And besides..."

The bacteria peered upward
to see through its layer of film,
a sky blackened by flock,
all birds existing and imagined.

"I also brought friends."

______________________________________
Kristin Blank is a Renaissance woman. She is the vocalist for Sing the Evens, Play the Odds. She writes the underground comic Hate Your Friends. In her spare time, she likes to curb stomp triflin' fools.

posted 11.12.07.

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