DAY 9: Sick Days

Today my hatred of the outdoors
is liquefied
and sloshing around inside my head.

Mucus is an incubated chicken inside of my skull
it is pushing against every side
pressing against eardrums
chipping at the slimy, white prison.

I wish that when I heard it stirring
I could get crocheting needles
and prod into my ears
that have been as congested as the
New Jersey Turnpike since birth.

I would spray those standing too close with
geysers of thick yellow snot
like a liquid light show
that smells like sickness
and ruins clothing.

More than anything, I wish my kids would realize
that the reason that I am screaming
is because they are screaming.
And I in addition to wanting to lance my own ears,
it is painful.
Every time I move my head to shoot one of them a
look like "I will cover you in snow first."
the contents of my head shift
like a poorly packed moving van.

I would take a sick day, but I can't.
I know this is my fault.

This is the same reason that my father set out
pills made of his sickness
the fever that plagued us ever time the temperature rose.
His routine of protected him until the pollen
settled around him with the falling leaves.

If he missed any work
it was for the most serious of ailments.
He never hid from his flaws but instead
took them in until he became immune.

In my class there are 6 empty chairs
in a class of 29.

Maybe it is too easy
to hide from our flaws.
Take a sick day from our problems.

But what if we took them in-
inject indecision under my skin
like an allergy shot,
take two doses of my own passive nature,
and call that someone in the morning-
the girl with that smile that causes me to look away,
the better job that complacency has prevented.

I would spread symptoms and cures simultaneously-
to the close mouthed kid that the only way you are going
to overcome the speech impediment is to speak.

That we need to take in every bit of our
problems until we learn to deal with them,
so that we never have to call in sick again.