Flu

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.)