Pollyanna-Ism And Puritanism Poem by Margaret Alice Second

Happily balanced on the fulcrum
of my sore throat, told my friends
about wearing a surgical mask this
weekend, floating on the pressure
in my head unworried about being
comatose as I pirouette around the
swelling in my ears, leaning into the
eye of the storm, calm and resigned

Asking nothing, expecting less, the
perfect attitude as Pollyanna-ism
repulses the ice-cold Puritanism in
my soul, with pseudo-ephedrine I
can breathe and it is a privilege,
being comfortable while making
time pass sitting upright and de-
vising a story in my head

Laughter makes me feel better; I
had better find more victims to
laugh with as it acts like a drug
that puts me high