I hate the oppressive thickness in my head
I hate the coughing and drips
I can’t read or think for more than a minute
The sun’s out, but I can barely crack my eyelids
There are things to write
There are things to be read
I’m sure there are things to do
The dogs want attention
I wish that I still had my cat to cuddle…
I hate this
Victim of a microbe
that puts the brakes on the world
and puts me on a time-out
I hate this!
Not enough anger to beat down this villain
so I try to write it here
My mind is a ghetto
I hate this.
— — — — — — — — — — — -
This is #4 of my quest to write a poem a day for a year.
Thank you for being here.
Dana Sanford 1–4–19