Called Up [r] Poem by Margaret Alice Second

Instant soup, a cup or two, and now the long,
slow, softly glowing embers of an adamantine
headache that doesn't make me ill, but destroys
my will, only the reptilian core in the mammal
brain remains operative, survival, fight & flee

Now called up to attend a Minister's meeting,
backache is manifesting while trying to learn
on Arabic or read Agatha Christie didn't work
beyond half-hearted attempts - during lunch
I wandered down to the shops & found a pair

Of divine flip-flops, rose-pattern on top - yet
my joy is as vague as an almost dying flame;
I'm going to stop drinking instant soup just to
become me again without ears swelling and
eyes unfocused: I had better leave before it

Becomes too difficult to drive home safely…