A Good Host

I seek some sort of accomodation.  
The microbe hordes, like Mongols
In miniature, ravage my body.  I only
Can glumly cycle from bathroom
To bed and back.  They'll go in time,
I'm assuming, chased off by far
Greater numbers of my mutinous
Lymphocytes.  I, in my hugeness,
Look over my e-mails, neutral,
A fatalist, certain that either the Mongols
Or those who pretend to protect me,
Are going to learn how to end me at last,
And I think that's fine.  I'm accomodating,
Serving myself as a  feast.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 37 times
Written on 2022-09-07 at 12:55

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Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
Felling THAT bad, eh? It is amazing how those microbe hordes, so tiny, can reek such havoc, isn't it. Don't allow yourself to be ended, you have too much to give the world, my friend.