The Flu Bug Blues

The Flu Bug Blues

I'm getting a little desperate
         inventing things to do,
while I'm stuck at home in misery,
         a victim of the flu.
I'm trying to keep fairly busy,
         so there's no time to obsess,
about the cumulative damage
         of this chronic sleeplessness.
I've got such bags beneath my eyes,
         they soon could pass for luggage.
Would it be an understatement
         to assert I'm feeling sluggish?

As this battle drags me on and out,
         I dredge my creative outer limit,
to find suitable occupation
         for each hour-draining minute.
I've cleaned out the bedroom closets,
         piled old socks up to mend,
I've organized kitchen cupboards,
         and changed the furniture around again.

I've written people letters
         I've never written to before.
I've done daily crossword puzzles
         and tracked all the hockey scores.
I've fiddled with my handicrafts.
         I know what every T.V. show's about.
I've read every one of my newest books,
         and dug a few old favorites out.

My daughters aren't faring better
         and are feeling quite hemmed in.
They've tired of their favorite toys,
         even Barney's wearing thin.
They've hacked from all the coughing,
         their fevers soar like scorchers.
This nasty mid-winter flu bug
         is more a medieval torture.

This can't go on much longer,
         my patience has definitely been strained.
I'd better see improvement
         before the last prescription's drained !
I don't mean to whine and carry on,
         but I must find a way to cope.
If I didn't laugh, I know I'd cry;
         this has to be a joke !

The virtues of winter's frosty clime
         some people glowingly extol.
But as far as I can strain to see,
         It's just a season for rotten colds.

(originally written January 1996)