His sickness is a window-dressing plague
that comforts all the passing thuggy beasts
in prickly sweaters (scales and horns get caught
on thick blue woolen fabric).

His sickness is a child’s hoarse dry forced cough
accompanied by a doleful headshake,
eyes downcast. Sick! And I had studied so!
Except his illness’s actual and clear
for all to see–politeness looks away,
but it still knows.

His sickness always laughs just off, too weird
to count as funny, jovial, or nice–
or anything but creepy weird.
What’s wrong with him? What’s his deal? We’d like
to know.

Author: Local Committee of Local Concerns