Like A Virus Poem by Glen Martin Fitch

On shelf or counter
they will latent lie.
In supermarkets,
boxes 'neath the stairs,
or from a friend,
through ear or eye,
the sly contagious germ
will enter unawares.
And once infected
no help can you find.
First you'll deny it,
try to carry on
until the fever bans work
from your mind.
Your hands are hasty.
Appetite is gone.
You might as well give up.
Go home to bed.
Take phone off hook.
Turn heater on or fan.
Put coffee at your side.
Lamp over head.
For, though you'll toss and turn,
you're quite resolved to end
the mystery novel while you can,
'cause you can't function
till the murder's solved.