by scott from jail

I've wasted half a day in being sick,
deposited by the continent of Australia in a Sydney strain
violently ill then dead to the world with an unwitting, clamorous fatigue
opening this shell of house in wondering how to deal with an 18 below zero windchill
masks what must be done, turning it into phone call after phone call of requests, favors, excuses,
waiting as if these were lined up frivolities of life
Knocked down like bowling pins
The stereo playing, the fire warm
and too tired to move I type
Where is Rachel in Afghanistan and is she well? This is the war... not the dreary stagnance of politics
but the flu which prones you open.

Copyright © 2013 - scott from jail
Published: 9/12/13   ·  Author's Page   ·  Next Poem