Stomach churning
acid burning
Monday turning
into Tuesday

and
time goes on until
the end of the line
or Friday
whichever comes first.

Dreadlocks
but no holiday.

Songs play on with
the words going wrong
it must be my age.

One supposes
composers
must be used
to it by now.

Shutting out the symptoms
but
I'd cut out the cancer if
I could.

You never know
until you do.