SOMETIMES I GET SICK
you let the ringing die out
staring at the reflection on the screen as your face
melts into the answering machine
call back several weeks later vetting
plague-like symptoms
took two pills to kick it
but ibuprofen never seems to work
you let your throat dry out
feel it itch and scratch and
rip at your vocal chords—
what little you have left is
nothing more than the shards you cough up onto shaky
fingertips, push them deeper into the flesh until your hands are
bloodied on a Sunday afternoon and
everything hurts too much to take the blanket off