And then there are all those people
that come and go and kick and claw
for no real purpose but to agitate
and here you are with bruised shins
and scratched shoulders
You’ve been running a fever for
probably years, I would imagine,
but the people with the thermometers
are busy checking the boil on their
latest batches of poison
so you soldier on with that fire
burning out of your forehead*
(*fires, mind you, are not so bad
mostly; they warm the heart that
powers the spirit that drives the soul,
but it’s a bit like your carburetor
is putting the fuel in the wrong place,
and I’m sure you know all about that)
Despite it all, you do pretty well.
You cultivated your garden and you
made your spices and I wish that that
had been enough to make you better.
You perform movements now and again
and it moves you, too, even if no-
body is looking
You write. It is excellent.
As for me, I don’t have much for you
in the way of cure. I am no alchemist,
nor a nurse’s aid,
nor a real live Pharmacognosist.
I even put too much sugar in the tea
I can wrap a bandage, though, and I
can get you cold water almost always.
I can even lay still, now and then,
just long enough for that throbbing
in your head to almost go away.
And I’ll do all of that,
just as much as you need me to.