Sore Throat, A Poem Better Read than Said (Due to the Circumstances)

Burning redness, aching flesh

Wake in the middle of the night                                                        

No enlightenment from a thermometer

The flashlight holds more might.

Cough drops soothe,

The night is long

Pain meds help,

But they’re not strong

The night is long, the night is long.

All day I drink tea, throw scalding water at my throat

For just a time, a short, short time, the liquid helps to coat.

Vitamin C, Zinc and rest

I am bored out of my mind

Please stop hurting, throat, I beg

For this is most unkind.

The day is long, the day is long, longer than the night.



The worst is the evening,

When day passes into the night

The beast beats its fists with all its might

I feel it pounding on my neck

Its fiery temper raging, every swallow brings a cringe

It leaves me as a restless, helpless wreck.

The eve is long, the eve is long, the longest time of all.

Sore throat, you win, please move on now

I’ve things to do and snow to plow

I’ve had enough

Of all this stuff

Please turn and take your bow.

The end is near, the end is near

Please tell me that the end is here.

Hidden Wisdom in my Week. A Bold Poem.

Visit the Guggenheim Museum in New York City. 

Start at the top of the spiraling ramp and look over the edge into an abiss of white and art and tourists.

 Appreciate Kandinsky and your free headset while commenting with an old friend on a Tuesday. 

Mid week, drive a few hours to see a cousin, have a sleepover and drink red wine. 

Try a new restaurant and laugh until the sun comes up.

Take the time to see your father in action at work. 

Watch him teach his practice as he has for the last fifteen years. 

Participate in his workshop, make new friends in the class and at the bar and swim in the hotel pool.

Share your pitcher of Sangria with strangers and celebrate your freedom.

Friday, rest.