Tuesday Poem - The Boy's Not Well

It started with some tears outside my bedroom door
I tried not to sigh too heavily as my feet hit the floor
What's wrong I whispered, trying not to be cross
But all he could do was whimper, I was at a loss

Come in come in I whispered trying not to wake the baby
Hoping against all hope she wouldn't hear us, maybe
What's wrong I asked again and again but all he could do
Was sob and gulp and retch so that was my sickness cue

I let him lie down at the bottom of the bed
So that he had a chance to rest his weary head
That might not sound exactly loving to a child
But to say he sleeps like a ninja octopus puts it mild

We woke at seven crying for water
Still no sound from my little daughter
A temperature of 103 gave my little man the shakes
Hot skin to the touch and desperation as he bakes

Forcible administration of medicine was needed
A bucket at the ready in case of upchuck fielding
So far so good but the temperature is still high
I can kiss all my days plans a cheerful goodbye

The littlest one is pottering about happily
The boy is still feeling particularly crappy
Hopefully, this bug is just a 24-hour thing
And tomorrow he'll bounce back with a bing!

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Claire Buss is a multi-genre author and poet, completely addicted to cake. Find all her books on Amazon. Join the discussion in her Facebook group Buss's Book Stop.