The flu burned my face barren

the flu burned my face barren

I lost my appetites, my desires
could barely walk a straight line
the good is gratitude for friends
and zany family, poets who write ‘n share
goddam I live in Oz, the witches
are good, the word is chillax’n

the flu can be like a vacuum cleaner
me on my knees at midnight
wiping up dust so I can breathe the air
in my room. I am a lucky woman

but it’s so hard to love housework
I can barely cook, or shop
my head like a dropped watermelon
hurts at the cracks—my head is like that
splitting, as the symphony in my chest
warms up, tunes the instruments
my bronchials have become.

I look out the window at the Bocci
ball players in the park, pastoral,
wild ecstasy of colors and breezes
my nose rubbed raw has split skin
as this illness burns along. We two
old folks do like the quiet and peace
of solitude. This morning at dawn
the hawks did housework on their nest.

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About merimeemilhaupt

nada
This entry was posted in Musings. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to The flu burned my face barren

  1. Amanda says:

    Loving this on a sick and dusty day, stuck inside in sunny Califas!

    Like

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