When one is…

Sick…
The ickys got me…
I cannot lie…
You would have heard me
At least for half a mile
The foghorn nose announces me
And that deep some throat some
Hacking thunderous rumbles
Yes, that was also me…
What torture these things subject us to?
Did I become experiment?
What possible need I ask
For such accoutrements?
The billowing piles of tissues used
The growing pile of laundry
My body seems to have forgotten
How to control my pee…
The bottles of red and green
And sometimes orange, too…
There is that stack of white things
They said I had to drink as well
And the empty bottles of ginger ale
And ginger tea bags galore…
The kitchen, I haven’t seen
My mouth wants nothing I have labored on
My body wants to sleep.
The pizza man delivers
I wonder if my mother could
Rain chicken ginger soup for me
With green papayas please
But I haven’t found the number
For heaven on my phone…
Siri isn’t any help…
She interprets my raspy voice
Into incomprehensible garbage.
I wanted Bob McGee
She gave me Doug’s Mortuary…
I realize I’m very sick
But last I checked I breathed still..
But according to Siri here
I don’t have much time, I fear.
I googled all my symptoms…
It doesn’t relieve my mind…
They had me between death’s door
And making love to Grimmie
There seemed no hope, no hope at all!
I bury myself and wait
While rain pours from my head and neck
And I dream wildly of heated jungles
Where the rain is hot, hot, HOT!
The heater is much too warm!
Devil’s set fire to the bed and spun me round!
Dizzily I clasp the toilet bowl
I howl!!!
I meant, I hurl… everything in my stomach
Becomes a greenish soup…
I close the lid…
Another set of clothes wasted…
I should just stay
Under the spray
Of hot water
At least until they
Say I’m okay…
I finally understand
Why the showers in some countries
Are positioned right over the toilet bowl…

RhB 201402030749A

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2 thoughts on “When one is…

  1. “Siri isn’t any help…
    She interprets my raspy voice
    Into incomprehensible garbage.
    I wanted Bob McGee
    She gave me Doug’s Mortuary…”
    Oh how I love this.
    Quite graphic and descriptive. You nailed how I have felt when “The ickys got me…”

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