Say it Ain’t So

Being sick in the summer makes no sense,
it's like sitting in the shade during the South Pole's six months of sunshine. 
Iron out your singing voice, 
put on your sensible smile,
and saddle up Sensei,
for today could hold nothing but the cacophony of crashing cymbals. 
Sadly, Advil can't help with this shit Sally,
We must speak. We must "spill one's guts". We must... synonym. 

What's that?.... Silence?....

Words are hard sometimes, I know;
especially when lunch was so suspiciously easy to swallow.
Something is telling us to single out slavers and slam Uncle Sam with our sanctioned, somewhat sociable soliloquies, 
and the world is right to sit at our feet.
Only a few of our stomachs turn "lunch lady", 
and send our soup (still warm and the crackers not yet saturated) sliding out our throats.
To those salvation soldiers I say: Sanitize!
And– clean up your spittle. 
For this diatribe develops substantially. 

Keegan Shaw 8/13/20