Dave Bonta's "Outbreak" is a short, broken-off piece that reads like a question no one answers. The speaker asks where there is "a mouth for us," which could mean a voice, a way to speak, or even something that might feed or swallow us. The poem never settles on one meaning, and that uncertainty is part of its unease.
The middle lines trace a quick, frightening change. Someone is "fleet" and lively in the afternoon, then "fallen sick" by night, struck by a "new ague and fever." The old-fashioned word "ague" gives the illness a timeless feel, as if this is how sickness has always arrived, suddenly and without warning. The title suggests an epidemic, though the poem itself only hints at it.
The final line, "who continues," stands alone and could be read as a hopeful note or an anxious question about who will survive. The mood is hushed, fragile, and watchful, with the sparse lines and white space mirroring the silence and fear of a community waiting.