Treasure Island

Jefferson Carter


Strep Throat


STREP THROAT

I sleep in my son's bed,
his comforter billowing
over me like meringue,
the poems of Che Guevara
under my pillow.
When my wife comes home,
she lets the dog in,
the dog who loves me
unconditionally. What did
Che call his apolitical friends?
Drunks, singing, their throats
about to be cut. The dog
loves me for myself, morose,
apolitical, the tang of penicillin
on my skin & he scuttles
down the hall, wondering
where I am, finally
wriggling the comforter
aside & draping himself
over my head like
someone's flung beret.

Submitted: Saturday, June 07, 2014

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Topic(s): politics

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  • Abekah Emmanuel (8/21/2014 4:09:00 PM)

    beautiful poem with very nice similes.....words intelligently chosen to describe a nice and amazing scene...... well done Doc.! (Report) Reply

  • Mandolyn ... (7/1/2014 8:52:00 PM)

    This is freaking fantastic. I loved every bit. My favorite is the opening.... billowing over me like meringue (Report) Reply

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