In Praise of Sick Days

Photo: Pixabay, Creative Commons, some rights reserved

This poem is adapted from a blog post written when I was still gainfully employed, but the scene is still correct in that I am sick today and feel incompetent to engage in anything more strenuous than procrastination. I came to love sick days in grade school. Being the youngest of three kids, having the whole house to myself was bliss. Still is.

In Praise of Sick Days

I write today from the comfort of my couch.
A book rests nearby, a glass of water, tissues,
a baby blue blanket, and a wide-screen TV.

Through prolonged sleeplessness and massive
amounts of cold remedy, I have achieved
the level of serene detachment I imagine
is possessed by Macy’s Thanksgiving Day
Parade balloons looming over New York.

All work is handed over to higher power;
one has the house to oneself and can watch
what no one else likes to watch, listen to
whatever may please, or stare agog into space
with none to question one’s sanity.

Feeling an urge for grilled cheese, a creamy mug
of tomato soup, and a black & white rerun on TV,
I look about finding no one to say me nay.

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1 Response to In Praise of Sick Days

  1. Sam Murphy says:

    Grilled cheese and tomato soup will allay a multitude of ills, both physical and psychic. Glad to see I am not the only devotee.

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