The Warmth of Sickness
I feel the warmth of sickness pass behind me
The warmth of sickness is glowing in the booth behind me
I try to warn the busboy but I only talk to my comrade
and fail to save this seemingly nice Salvadorian man
the feeling subsides and another man is seated
A woman an overheard vice-president of a company
talks to a young priest by the bar
My order comes and I eat when the priest leaves
the food is different in a good way
like anything different and good
I eat chicken and sauce and beer
wondering and surprised as a friend arrives
I say Huh to the news of a bleed that won't stop bleeding
a reason to worry
posted by mike c | 8:04 PM
5 Comments:
while i do like this poem, i request an extra proofread before posting next time. or maybe my next comment (or post) will look like: "ey Mik, ou nee a rooreade," aka "Hey Mike, you need a proofreader."
the doctor is out. the peanut gallery is closed.
may your joys be joyous. may your boys be girlish. may your toys be tame. and may you heal auntie mame.
I have no idea what you speak of. I have looked over this poem again and again (and so have others) and I can find no need of a copyeditor.
well then... my apologies. i'll leave your poetic license instated so that you're free (it's america bay-bee) to use "commrade," "Salvaorian," "over heard," and "preist" for their special effects.
OHHhhhhhhhhhh! Man you must feel like the smartest man in the world having a friend like me!!
there are certainly a few perks to having you around.
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