The Sick Poem

When your nose sounds like a trumpet
And your eyes are zombie glazed
When you’re bedridden for five days
And your head’s like lead to raise:

Read this poem.

When your brother comes and sees you
Tells you, ‘Yikes, you’re really sick,
Don’t pass it on cos that would suck,
You need to eat some garlic’:

Read this poem.

When there seems to be no end to
The mucus you produce
Tissue trade thrives because of you
And your nose files for abuse:

Read this poem.

When you shuffle to the kitchen
And everywhere you look
Your brother’s mess has conquered
Every space, chair, bench and nook.

Shuffle back to your room.

Get back into your bed.

And read this poem.

xx The Flu-ridden Poet

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