Three weeks ago I caught a heavy cold,
or maybe it was flu infecting me,
but I was stricken then with manifold
complaints, among them loss of energy
and aching joints, bronchitis threatening,
and lack of appetite. All pleasures off,
I napped and read and napped. I couldn’t sing
a sonnet, didn’t move except to cough.
At last the fever cooled, my breath returned,
and I endured some oral surgery.
Then chewing was restricted though I yearned
to savor flavors cold-denied to me.
I understand bad timing – it’s a phase –
but nonetheless today I feel malaise.