Requiem For A Leech

No, this poem isn't about a lawyer. In 1970, Mom worked as a guide at the Spanish Hospital in St. Augustine, Florida, a restored building that had once been a hospital for Spanish soldiers and settlers. On display there was a large glass jar containing a bunch of leeches. From that, came this poem.

I didn't think I'd ever miss
    The leeches that we had
All summer on the counter.
    But now, I'm feeling sad.

They were a conversation piece—
    Those ugly, horrid, critters—
So miserable to care for
    That they gave us all the jitters.

Folks would view them with disgust,
    Mutter, "Yuck!" and then
Stand and watch the stupid things
    And come back there again.

We started out with quite a few
    And lost them day by day,
Until, at last, but one was left.
    Then he, too, passed away.

And now, the Pharmacy seems bare.
    I draw attention to
The book, the jars, the pills, the scales,
    But none of them will do.

I can't expound upon the use
    Of leeches then or now.
All I can do is mention them.
    It sure falls flat. And how!

Few care today that they are gone,
    Forgotten, that is true.
But, somewhere in Leech Heaven,
    I hope they miss me, too.

—E. M. Cilwa, Sept. 4th, 1970