As I swing on the gate at my friend's house
I watch white suited men disappear inside.,
their wand-like counters cackle 
at invisible findings 
spoken only in whispers 
from neighbor to neighbor.

My friend and her mom are gone
to find refuge from gawkers like me
or absolution for their part 
urging her dad to carry home in his lunchbox
useful office goods and tools
from the plutonium plant.

Her dad is hidden at the hospital 
where I hear they are washing him.
Imagine the vats of steamy suds it must take 
to scrub away the badness
and how would they know when he's done 
all wrinkled and pink?

Swinging back and forth, I think maybe
sins are found finally by fancy wands
wielded by silent men in white.
They crisscross the lawn 
pace in and out of the house
and for a time I feel invisible.

When the white suits pass close
the wand's static grows
loud, urgent - 
I bolt from my foothold
and worry my way home
counting my sins.

--Dr. Irene Hays