Boogie tissue

Inside a pants’ pocket
a small white crumpled mass
of cotton fibers
waits to be used again.

Slightly damp and holey,
it struggles to absorb
the green germy mucus.

“No more!”, the tissue screams,
as it tears in two.

Infected and frail,
it begins the slow process of dying
in the dark trash can.

The boogie tissue is Christ for the sick.

I love that! nice

Succint poem…and you take the image and symbol of the ‘boogie tissue’ to its logical poetic end…

this reminded me a little of poet Charles Simic, have you ever read him? ./