The injustice of being sick on vacation

the injustice

how dare I call it that, the injustice of being sick on vacation

when true injustice surrounds us, we have only to open the New York Times

to see injustice oozing from the mouths of our Supreme Court injustices

the injustice for the toddler shot at a Seattle fair just yesterday

oh, injustice you are everywhere and yet looking past the Kleenex box

towards the tranquil bay, does the seagull know injustice or

does the rain gently pattering outside on the railing

know injustice or does she wander freely with the clouds first

towards the east, over the hillsides and open water

does injustice only reside with us, who have strayed so far from

the natural world that we cannot even know what justice is,

or injustice

the injustice of being sick on vacation, the endless coughing and sneezing

the nose rubbed raw, would nature call these injustices or only the 

weary and spoiled traveler in her warm clothing, her white skin and well-educated

mind

she dare not call this an injustice.