Checking


How does one work through the fuzziness?
I wonder as I count dollar bills for change.
I think back to childhood fevers,
As I stared out into the cloudy playground,
With a humming head and feeble hands.
The nurses in office avoided me, the sick child.
Because no one would come,
No one would come and save the day.
I was the faker of illness.
The deceiver of affliction.
The imposter of indisposition.
Such ignorant, carless beings.
Letting the seven-year-old waste on until I see.
The yellow transportation.
Funny how the martyrs of healing
Could so easily neglect such a youngster.
Still, I waste on.
The myriads of coworkers and customers,
Never seeing the slightest indication,
That I'm not alright.
That I am unwell.
And need to rest.
But what do I know?

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This Poems Story

Don't kill yourself on a job that would replace you in a week. Take care of yourself, even if no one else will.