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Sick
written for farah, august 23 '02
My conversation with the water in the bowl
ended as gravity yanked
vile glory
my body's victory
of ridding the unwelcomed.
Unfortunately, it didn't feel like a celebration. my
eyes rolled back into its places and I stared
and almost apologized to the bowl for dirtying it so
almost apologized to my aching knees and knuckles white.
I resisted the urge to lie back on the
wet
bathroom floor
in case my body decides to defy gravity for another... victory.
my knuckles gained a sickly pink quality as I
gripped the steering wheel, as I arrived at the clinic.
The doctor stroked his beard and looked me over.
Shoved a lolly stick without the lolly down my throat
and I almost did an encore of the toilet bowl incident
I almost wish I had
it'd be some contentment of colour on his white jacket
over his white shirt over the white table
possibly splattering the white floors of the white room.
the Doctor said it could have been the chicken
or the soup or the sandwich or the beef
or the egg or perhaps the biscuits.
I think it just might have been
the catfood that looked like minced beef
or the expired milk or just maybe all vegetables.
A two digit bill that wiped me of
a good dinner tonight
and lunch the next day
sent me on my way.
I grabbed a can of mushroom soup in the store on the way home
as an attempt to pamper myself.
All I thought about from then to now was to forget today
and not remember or be reminded
at all at all at all
Later at home I lifted the seat in the bathroom
to get the soup out of my system
I gag. Earlier (muchmuch earlier now),
I forgot to flush.
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Note: I was bored and my friend challenged me to write about being sick. I didn't put a lot of tlc into this one.