Yay! Poetry Friday has arrived and COVID has left the house! Please visit the brilliant
Marcie Flinchum Atkins for this week’s Poetry Friday round up. Thank you for hosting, Marcie!
Getting here was a long, hard battle. Please allow me to elaborate …
Just before the holidays, The Green Goblin of COVID surfed in on a wave of phlegm.
I immediately enlisted Sir Paxlovid, who I thought would be my knight in shining armor. He fought a good fight. For five days and nights, Sir Paxlovid went head-to-head with The Green Goblin. A fierce battle raged! The Green Goblin descended from my head to my throat to my lungs, burrowing deeper and finding refuge in the caverns of my internals. Sir Paxlovid swung his antiviral sword and cut off The Green Goblin’s relentless advances. On day six, Sir Paxlovid declared victory! We embraced, and Sir Paxlovid left for his next conquest. All was well in Traceyland.
On day nine, The Green Goblin crept out of his hiding place and started poking around, testing to see if Sir Paxlovid had truly abandoned Traceyland. My head began to throb. My throat began to ache. On day ten, I inquired of the Wiseman Noseswab if indeed the expulsion was complete. He assured me that, despite the signs, there was not a trace of the goblin in Traceyland.
Yet … the feelings intensified. My four top advisors, Ms. Head, Master Throat, and the Lung Sisters, told me that something was amiss. On day thirteen, I called Wiseman Noseswab back and demanded that he gaze into his crystal dropper again and tell me the truth of the matter. He hemmed and hawed for fifteen minutes before admitting that indeed, The Green Goblin was back and running rampant throughout Traceyland once more.
With Sir Paxlovid long gone, I knew that I would need to fight this battle the old-fashioned way. I drank the secret potion – Plenty of Fluids. I read poetry gifted to me by the fair maiden Jone Rush of MacCulloch. A wise, friendly healer delivered an ancient remedy, Homemade Chicken Soup*, which I slurped down. I soaked in a steaming tub of … bathwater. This battle raged for three drippy days and three restless nights until … I woke up yesterday morning, feeling fine. Ha! I had slain The Green Goblin in my sleep!
Today, I need to find that unreliable Wiseman Noseswab and ask him to confirm that we’ve eradicated the goblin, but I already know what he is going to say.
* This wasn’t just any chicken soup. My healer-friend added a secret ingredient (a dash of Thai Chili Sauce), and she cut the carrots into tiny heart shapes! XOXO, Kim!
And now, to go with the chicken soup … a poem about saltines!
Saltine
By Michale McFee
How well its square
fit my palm, my mouth,
a toasty wafer slipped
onto the sick tongue
or into chicken soup,
each crisp saltine a tile
pierced with 13 holes
in rows of 3 and 2,
its edges perforated
like a postage stamp,
… to read the rest just click!
Wishing everyone a healthy, story-filled new year!
As for the poem about saltines...be still my heart. These lines sum it up for me:
"the redneck’s hardtack,the cracker’s cracker."
This is the truth of my growing-up experience. Good to see it affirmed in poetry! :-)
Interesting how Paxlovid behaves differently for different people. I do think it may have helped me in the grand scheme.
I agree about the heart-shaped carrots! Over the top with kindness!
Love the poem about Saltines. :) I don't love Saltines but somehow he makes me believe that they deserve a poem of their own.