The Flu

Sneezes, coughs,
kerchoos and moans,
Aching joints 

and fire-filled bones,

Stuck in bed 
for hours on end

Day and night 
become a blend.

Pressure in my 
round eyeballs
Might explode 
before night falls

Scratchy throat 
that feels like dirt

All my systems 
on alert.

Gone Fishing

Remembering Pat at the third anniversary of Tom's home-going . . .

All his life a fisherman

Enjoying the quiet chase

And the God-given catch

And the sweet taste

Of fire kissed filet

Eaten in peace on shore of beloved lake

Or quiet country kitchen.