The one thing every child in the world should know about their parents’ health.

It would seem a cathartic karmic delight
as we feel awful, body sore, head not faking the ache of the fight
to survive and feel good again,
seems impossible in an hour or ten,

where’s the promised karma
in vials and bottles from dear caring Big Pharma?
the headache respites
from bright sounds and loud lights?

there’s people around who could supplant the pharma
with able and capable little legs and strong arma
they could help much more more much
with a sanitized gentle and soothing light touch
or perhaps the absence of their sweet bodies
as our our bodies temp runs hotties.

yes, our kids remain in the house, along with me and my spouse,
Santa or Kris Kringle or Ms Claus in our house
might be preferable at moments, or even a non-disease carrying respectful haus mouse who can play soft Strauss in our house,

quiet, quiet as house elves
who respect the recovering needs of our not feeling-good selves.

so I guess it would seem
that when a parent gets sick and sunk in their luck,
health in the muddy dirty sludge muck

and can barely functionally fumble
through caregiving
with grumble mumble grace,
puffy face, headache case,

it would seem a
heavenly initiative plan
a celestial vow paid ahead, man,

might be that you take care of them,
of her and him
as patience grows thin,

it would seem,
that when you’re feeling ill
and you want some directed goodwill,

that you could climb on a couch,
collapse into cushions, let your worries and woes and aches
super slouch,
rest away, baby joey,
secure in metaphoric kangaroo pouch,

it would seem you could
relax, man, chillax,
you know they love you,
their affections intacts,
no Damocles’ axe

edgy tempers, kids, family, marriage,
it’s real, oasis anti-mirage,

could use cuddle with each others,
just parents minus those anothers who smothers,

the wee ones we love to death, but keep alive
with the last of our breath and good choices,
like not doing meth.

Could we not love them the same
while we’re awful-feeling and achey-boned lame?

We love them so much,
and the sense of their touch is never too much,

but yet I wonder in the depths of a dire non-fatal disease,

could our kids, in our parenting overhead absence,
continue to be kind and say please?

Please, please, we’re tired
and your energies still feel caffeine adrenalized wired,

we love you so great and so grand
and forever and always,
to the top of the mountains and the end of the seas’s sand,

just understand we get ill too and feel awful
a hack and a mouthful of full cough into elbow of armful

a little at times,
at these times I write
some metaphysical metamorphic plain meta rhymey rhymes,

but I’m still distressed and my internal organs are feeling and failing an ongoing test,
we need some rest,
soon, soon again we’ll be rise to our best,

we’ll be strong together
too in the nestlings of nest.

So please have patience,
be the doctors, we’ll be the patients?

We gotta get better, or at least betterer
than our state while I feel less alive and more deaderer.

Please, just be nice and get along well,
a little extra compassion shouldn’t dampen your passion,
but don’t drown us with yelling demanding and squabbling extreme,
you are our best, the treat at the top of the cream,

it’s a callout, a plea to kids everywhere,
in diapers and torn underwear,
fully clothed or bear naked bare,

it’s a mandated suggestion
to tone down aggression,

to cut your parental some slack,
show the patience you ought not to lack,

and help them bet better right soon,
perhaps before Tuesday at noon,

let us read or watch telly and get a bit smelly,

just let us have a wee space physical and symbolic,
we’ll soon shapeshift again to high energy metabolic

You’re our littles,
no matter your bigness someday
We’ll always have room in our arms, we emphatically say,

except for today…
if you’re gonna snuggle or curl in tighty,
do it without squirming or picking a fighty,
and with clean undies and sweet smelling nighty.

It’s in your interest as well to get us feeling again tip-top and swell.

We love you, like you love a triple scoop cone,
but just know for all of our sakes, once in a while,when we’re sick and so downs with the frowns,

we just need to be left a bit more…alone.

with all love,

the parents.

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rough draft banged out May 29 in the depths of fatigue and soreness

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