Compassion Fatigue
Resentment looks a lot like Narcan in a sharp
and feels like it’s forcing out my will.
I grab them both; Naloxone and the tarp,
the outcome undetermined by my skill.
Same guy, same place, same drug; third time today,
his unresponsive body cold to touch.
Compassion has fatigued and crawled away,
when I see something tiny in his clutch;
A crucifix, a cross is glinting gold.
Immediate withdrawal floods through his veins;
I’ve plunged the needle, and I tightly hold;
his bloodied eyes snap alive with pain
despite the death wish of his toxic dope,
a Savior finds him worthy of His hope.
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