Error message

Crisischondria

Thu, 02/19/2015 - 6:00am

tags

poetryscrimshaw

related

Share

Subscribe

get blog updates via email

Subscribe to Distractions of Grandeur feed
A poem satirizing our innate ability to transform any and everything into a personal affliction.

Going out for lunch again?
Aren't you worried?

Well, it does look like rain, and you know,
a cure won't be hurried no matter what anyone tries to say.

Oh, yes of course,
I'm sure they're working very hard in their way.

It's a noble goal, pure altruism.
It's a good cause.
I've already texted my support.

You'd think there'd be laws to cover this sort of thing,
tort protection so to speak.

I mean, everyone needs it,
not just those poor weak things,
gives me a fit just thinking about them.

I get ill, really,
I can't bear it when anyone's that unhealthy,
and it's bad enough that those people are,
but now we're at the point where we've got to think about our very own lives.

Well I'm not going out,
and I don't advice anyone else to.

Not until it's over or they say so, at any rate,
in however limited a fashion they choose.

But I do hope that they stop covering it on the news.
It's too much for a work day.

Just what do they hope people will do?
Go help over there?

Sorry, nope, I'm not going to hop across town,
let alone there.

Don't get bent out of shape,
I'm done talking.

Now, who's my next patient?