Sicko
Stupefied, again, by illness, I loll
In an easy chair, and stare
Uncomprehendingly at everything
And also nothing. “Not a day of note,”
I muse. I ache. I dab my runny nose.
The clock, devoid of any pity, points
Out that it still is morning. I don’t
Care. I slowly rise and shuffle back
To bed.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 40 times
Written on 2023-05-07 at 15:53
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