As I approach my ninth decade
I worry about how and when
my body and mind will fall apart.
I’ve seen quite a few immigrants
from the far corners of the world
arrive without a nickel in their pocket—
apply for work no one else will do,
and turn out to be loving angels
who take tender care of my friends
and increasing numbers of relatives
with broken bodies who can’t move
or are victims of horrendous diseases—
for some, it’s accidents that render them
as helpless as a new born baby.

The inherent humanity of these caretakers,
an essential antidote to the killers in other lands—
and the killers here at home.