Thursday, December 27, 2012


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
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,
With my coffee
As long as I don*t spill.

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