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Norovirus

Submitted by Michael Mayhew on August 7, 2016

I got better, that's the point,
Never mind the aches,
In all my joints,
Nor the fever that left me
Flat on the floor,
Moaning and groaning,
By the bathroom door,
Forget the uprush,
Of vomited slime,
Because I recovered
— this time.

Comments

Michael Mayhew

August 7, 2016

... Nicholson Baker's novel, The Anthologist, and the title character's spirited defense of rhyming poetry.

Also by a recent illness and the accompanying Intimations of My Own Mortality.

joshua mertz

August 8, 2016

Strange way to find out about your bout with the noro. Poetry and puking have a lot in common: the feverish prelude; the rush to release that which burns within; the strange feeling of relief even as one trembles at the power; the tangy quality of the product; the colorful quality of the outpouring; the feeble protestations of "Oh Gawd,I don't wanna do this again"... yet knowing that you must. Glad to know you're feeling better Mike.