Chronicle my own Demise

I think it was the spinach, too rich and creamy,
damn and blast, I cannot even lie down, my back
is acting up, cannot breathe or think, definitely too
high a price to pay

I HATE eateries that extort an exorbitant fee for every
meal - I have emptied a jar of Vicks on my face in an
attempt at symptomatic relief, the ultimate insult, the
final blow: I cannot read

My lovely book on Theosophy with bright illustrations,
nor conquer the spasms in my back and short-circuiting
brain, I am turning into a hunchback again, heaven and
earth, if I were not

Old and wise I would have thought I was dying with all
these horrible feelings, it is awful to lose control, to be at
the mercy of muscles and misfiring nerves, if I were a nor-
mal person I would have been

Doing my work and not trying to chronicle my own demise,
I am not sorry for myself, just frustrated at forced inactivity,
bored stiff with inability to concentrate and finish translating
the stack of boring letters

Kindly civilians wrote to our long-suffering President telling
him to reform his heathen life, for Pete’s sake, we are ALL
sinners down here on earth, leave the President and his
culture and kids alone

So what if he has four wives, King Solomon in the Bible had
hundreds and a godly being in the Mahabharata had thirteen
thousand, too bad if YOU have only one spouse, I bet he or
she is trouble enough

Rather cast the beam out of thine own eye before looking for
the mote in the President’s eye you Pharisee, stop berating
politicians and clean up your own act for a change!