Headache, fever, stomach doing flip-flops.
I’m sick.

Throw-up, spitting, head about to blow up.
Quite sick.

Nice folks, laughter, doing something useful.
Not sick.

Go home, lie down, room is spinning sideways.
Still sick.

(This poem is about yesterday. I had a long day at work and did not feel well at all. Somehow, when I taught a class of fire fighters how to write a report, I forgot that I was sick. But when I got home, the sick symptoms came back. Lesson? Helping people makes me forget my troubles—at least for a little while.)


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