fever

The AIDS ward at the Royal Newcastle Hospital
was on the beach.
It was hidden behind the geriatric unit.
No one unwelcome could find it.
I had a fever. I was 40 degrees.
Outside was muggy.
My home in Hamilton was a hot stove.
In the AIDS ward, the wind would whistle in the
window from the Pacific Ocean.
The hole in which I saw the world grew smaller and
smaller. The nurses would hold me to the stretcher,
as I suffered anxiety.
Tim would hold my shivering hand but he would
keep looking away.
As I recovered, we would smuggle nachos and hot
cheese into the ward for a little party until the early
hours.
We could get away with it.
We were the special AIDS ward.
How could I tell them that I had an overdue video
assignment. Next to me was a straight drug dealer.
We would sit on the roof of the hospital smoking
joints. No one could find us.
We could also, when we had the strength, walk to
the beach, to a secret swimming hole.
Who would ever think that we were AIDS patients
from the AIDS ward?