Leprosy Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

She had been diagnosed
and sent away,
the colony they said
would be a home,
all those who caught
and did not have the genes
to fight the bugs,
they'd be recorded
in the ledger of the State,
as Hansenites.

Forever gone,
outcast,
with sores
and swollen joints,
and dying nerves
that made you drop
the cigarettes
and pens with which
to write your tale,
recording all events
and those you felt
would come
to claim your soul
and take you off
into the bowels of
the place we know
as Hell.