The Red Box

They come again, that eerie sight,
out of the darkness, brilliant lights
flashing and swirling, filling the air,
and out step a uniformed, somber pair
who carry their boxes of healing supplies
while twenty sets of curious eyes
watch and wonder: who will it be?
Perhaps the Red Box is coming for Thee!

If I look down the hall perhaps I will see
which way they go and what might be
their destination of mercy and care.
Ah, yes. Here they come, the uniformed pair
who scan the numbers until they see
the apartment where someone is waiting to be
cared for and treated mercifully.
Let me look again to see what I see.
O, no! The Red Box is coming for Thee.

Again and again they come in the night.
Unwelcome, intrusive flashing lights.
And each time I wonder: who will it be?
So I send up this prayer, regularly:
Please, Kind Spirit, don’t let it be me.
I prefer it to be number 7-0-3.
But then came a voice that whispered to me:
Someday, old friend, you will see.
The Red Box will come looking for Thee.