teteering. . .ODing. . .sneezing

A poem

Tonight I shuffle through the house
Nose dripping throat itching jaw aching
Can you grind your gums?
I do that.

Washing the dollar store camping gear
I avoid wetting the bandage
covering the cut I received last night
washing the more expensive Kitchenaid food processing blades.

Alanis Morrisette might say that was ironic.
She'd be wrong again.

My job half assed, I open the refrigerator door
and crane my neck inside for a can of Coke
to go with my rum.
I do not find one.

Trundle into the bathroom to blow my nose
on toilet paper -- we ran out of Kleenex.
Or tissue some of the kids in Green Bay might say,
whose parents worked for the other place.
That's a joke you don't get.
Unless you also get the jokes about Thomas Monfils, too.

Wander back into the kitchen, grab a glass and decide
to quench my sickened form with a tall glass of juice
Fresh squeezed this morning from the can.
Lifting it to my lips, I decide to grab a few children vitamins, too.

Screw it. Might as well OD on riboflavin.