sick deconstructed

Three weeks in 
and I'm trying to remember 
how well feels.


What an insult to God 
that I go along each day, 
grumbling about something...
anything, really.


Growing entitled to the clean air,  
damp-in-rain, full-of-amazing-oxygen. 
Rich air that soothes tired old lungs.
And sunshine prescribed vitamin D.


My chest and belly are sore.
(too much coughing?)
My stomach is sicky.
(new inhaler?)


But I walk, 
even stride about my business.
Feet work.
Eyes pretty well, too;
though a new Rx is needed
if yesterday counts.


I thought one of the kids 
had  stuck a bat tattoo on his forehead.


It was a bruise...


Missing a child's bruise 
is a hint if ever there was one:
Go buy too-darned expensive reading glasses.
(but even then, 
though we can barely afford them,
we can)


Maybe that's why I'm not reading much.


My excuse?
I couldn't find a good book.


This is a house with a thousand books.


Thank you, God, that I have
the brainpower to know
I need the wonder
of inhalers and glasses,
which are available.


What's a little cold?


Nothing much in this world.