The happiness of 500 bankers
and the rest of the free world
rests on my wretched brain:
It's O.K. to smash your face
against the bathroom mirror while shaving
if you just don't feel
like going to work.
I want to be the one
in the back of the ambulance for a change.
Why can't I
go to the hospital for once
and have some
terribly rare disease--
they're so perplexed.
And all I gotta do
is be sick
and puke my
half-eaten guts
into a bottle of Woolite:
For all your fine washables.
© 1992 Daniel X. O'Neil
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