As a frequent flier in the hospitals, I meet all types of other sick people. Most of the ones that are close to my heart are the patients who were my roommates during a hospital stay. This poem is about one of my hospital roommates, who displayed strength, tenacity, and positivity despite her health setbacks. I thank her for giving me hope and strength when I thought I lost it all. Thank You Barbara Bond.
For Barbara Bond
My sixty-year-old hospital mate’s name is
Bond, Barbara Bond,
But in no way is she related to
Or is anything like, Bond, James Bond.
She doesn’t have a license to kill,
Nor does she work for the British intelligence, MI-6.
Hell, she can’t even work because she is so sick,
Has a vascular disease, diabetes,
And acute intermittent leukemia.
If she were ever to be chased by any enemies
She would be caught
Because she lost both her legs battling diabetes.
She doesn’t own an extravagant bulletproof car
That can turn into a submarine,
Instead she owns a wheelchair
Although it’s not an electric one.
But Barbara Bond has gadgets that save her life,
An oxygen machine, and a device that checks her blood sugar
levels.
She likes taking her pills and her injection of insulin
In the morning, not night
While James Bond likes his martinis shaken, not stirred.
She may not have a license to kill,
But she does have a license to reach out to me
To tell me not to give up
Because everything will be okay.
The world is enough for Barbara Bond though it isn’t for
James Bond
But both of them would rather die another day.
