Hanging In

Hanon stricken, war drags on, another cold vile in my throat. Dreams wake me and aching hips. I'd rather be sleeping—it's only four— but this is not so bad, Vitamin C in orange juice, organic, English breakfast tea in my Powell's mug. Trivial comforts do not comfort but one goes on honoring workable loving, working mind while the moment lasts. This is a tribute to another poem and my heroes, hanging in.