Sick Puppy

I spent two days straight in bed

Sick as a dog, knocking on death’s door

My shotgun trip to New York was the cause for all of this love

My 102 degree fever

My sweats and shivers

My aching muscles and panicked stumbles to the bathroom

I’m just like most men

I don’t handle being sick very well

I live with the constant thoughts that

‘This must be the end’

‘This is how I’m going to go’

The fact is

Even a small cold and case of the flue

Is enough to turn me into a small scared child

Who just curls up in bed

And waits, patiently

For death to come and collect the winnings

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

Sick Little Bastards

And the sick little bastards cause commotion

Running through the gardens

Stealing and defacing the gnomes

Russell keeps the engine running

And the car in drive

The rest is left to these demons

Widespread panic

Cast out in meer seconds

And spread like the Huns

Marauding barbarians, with a reputation

For procrastination and sloth by day

But come the nights and the shadows

And the world is ours

Keep that car running, Russell

This won’t take but a moment

And then, just like that — it’s over

The village has been razed to the ground

The flowers stomped

The gnomes in pieces or stolen

And this shaggy and coarse gang of hoodlums

Sets off, again

For drinks and a comfortable night’s sleep

© Dicky J Loweman 2015