I’m sick. I’ve got the ick.
this wasn’t my idea.
My Grandmère had some little orphans over - a couple had coughs.
They were cute and vulnerable - they seemed to have subdued fun.
I caught it - the baby flu.
I thought I could fight it off but it got the upper hand.
Grandmère called a doctor and he was here in twenty minutes.
He asked to see my chest. “If you won’t laugh,” I granted.
I got the COVID rapid antigen test, No.
The rapid influenza diagnostic test, No.
A Rapid RSV antigen test, No.
“You’ve got what everyone else has,” the doctor said.
“Or you have something else.” He added.
‘I could be a doctor,’ I thought.
“Do you want to take a minute to talk to an AI?” I asked.
He gave me some steroids, so my fastball will get better.
Between coughing fits, I suggested a medically induced coma.
Anyway, it’s official - I’m sick, something nasty but nothing in particular.
He gave me Hycet (cough syrup) a yellow, cherry flavored opioid.
Five minutes after I took a pinky-finger dose I stopped coughing.
Something, somewhere deep inside suggested I cough.
‘Nahh,’ I thought, not now.
Gotta go, I’m very sleepy.
.
.
A song for this:
Make the world go away by Eddy Arnold