47.
‘God damn it Charlie’
my wife says quietly -
Charlie’s our over sized
house cat who nibbles
at some of the plants
in our bedroom. Apparently
a plant at the east
window has been nibbled
down to little ripped
weathered flags across a rigid
pulpy stem.
Zoey plays with an art
game on the computer
sitting on our minuscule
medium sized bed,
and later on, my heavenly repose
onto that same bed when
sleep hits me, can’t keep
my weary head from the
pillow, initial sighs into
the bliss - flash REM state,
down into peaceful
tranquil quiet dark.
Izzy (almost ‘5’ she proudly says)
watches Zoey play
on the computer, creates
mountainous rainbow triangles,
impresses the hell
out of Izzy.
‘After you show me you can let
me try it.’ Izzy says.
There’s a poignant hopeful tone in
her direct mini-sentences,
Izzy gets down to
business.
‘Uh, blue, and purple, and I
think some red will be
good.’ She plaintively
requests Zoey to show
her.
Today my wife called in
sick from work and the
boys have been hacking
and coughing, sometimes
puking, their breath and
sweat imbued with that
warped thin metallic tang
of sickness indicative of
red-cheeked roaring high
fever. It casts swollen
eyed spells, long stares into
space hardly normal activity for
a 20 month or a three year old boy.
They've been sick all week.
Ash calls Mother India
after I gave the two toddler
boys a hell of a shower/bath
scrubble bubble glub, all
the honey soap and shower
steam - gets rid of that
sick smell, and now I’m almost gone
to pick up my wife’s order from
Mother India on Leavenworth, soup,
flat bread and the car radio/CD
player await albeit in the
single headlight Chevy Cobalt -
I’ll need to drive with care.
(November 6th, 2014)
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