Roll the blinds up
so the light is inescapable,
so that you cannot oversleep.
Doze too long regardless,
waking to a damp pillow,
your hair swamped with
fragrant, feverish sweat.
The body isn’t sensual
on a sick day; it is an
entrapment of mortality,
a betrayal of mucus
spilling like an overfilled pail
on the way back from the well.
Read a web MD article
about a man who
had the sniffles and woke
to find a flesh-eating parasite
had taken both legs. Don’t
worry what the neighbours think
about your cornflake-encrusted
trackpants; about the wails
of your snot-fountain as
it geysers into tissue after tissue;
about the 15 minutes you spent
sprawled on the living room carpet
stroking the fibres as if they
could save you. They couldn’t.
Become deliriously
creative with your snacks,
with your texts to loved ones
regarding your imminent demise.
Netflix and ill. Do not swallow
antibiotics; like the carpet
fibres, they cannot save you.
Honey, lemon, ginger, hot water,
a shake of cayenne pepper. Repeat.
Remember, “Ebola” was just a river
in Africa. Now the word curdles
your bodily fluids with fear.
And all of this is just nature.
You may feel as though
you are losing your mind;
don’t panic. Stay away
from the Netflix Jonestown
docudrama, bad true crime
shows and “Botched Bodies”.
You’re far too fragile for that.
Keep your fluids up—be a human
water bottle. Rest. Try your best
to forget about necrotising fasciitis.
Rhinovirus has ravaged your body;
you cannot let it take your soul.
You were built for this white cell fight.
Remember, nature is terror.
Image by Christopher Campbell