Misbehavin*

I have found a spot in Boca where I can be alone, but not too alone.  Much like the Little Hippo (one of my favorite children*s books).  The fact that I am one week further along in the respiratory crud with which we have all been afflicted means that I feel well enough, but still sound sick enough, to inhabit the chair in the corner of the bedroom, drink my coffee (now cold), and write this.  I can also hear the conversation going on in the other room.  I feel wicked... in a very good way.

Now we are all sick

In Florida.

I have found a chair

In the corner of our bedroom.

The book I lost at church

The day before Christmas Eve

Was replaced by a package

Under the Walgreens tree

On Christmas Day.

I have a forbidden cup of coffee

In the bedroom.

I find I enjoy

Misbehaving

Here.

The fact that we arrived sick

Makes misbehavior more tolerable.

My dear one can sit

With his parents

As they cluck and croon,

Try to fix him.

I can sit in the bedroom,

Misbehave

With my coffee

As long as I don*t spill.