hiding out in the confines

of paralyzed thoughts while waiting out

an imaginary storm with thick balls of hail

crashing down all around me

and humming various songs from west side story

there must be something in the water

or sanitation department,

because my breath always seems to look

rancid under the microscope,

but that could be indicative of

a larger issue that i should attend to;

but i probably won’t,

i definitely won’t

Fred Aiken Writing