We Should Probably Thank Our Nascent Nausea

a poem that doesn’t shoot the messenger

Photo by Trần Toàn on Unsplash

One Hundred Days of Gratitude. Thirty-nine.

When you don’t listen
for long enough
your body screams and shouts. It has to.

— into your brain and gut I guess
burns the beacons it’s built
to warn the rest
of danger and damage being done.

Fires and flames sending smoke signals
about pain or poison or fun
a not-so-subtle sign to change
or check.

You know there’s a cause cause here’s the effect.

When you block your body
almost all the way out—

it demands to be dealt with
to deserve your god damned respect

brings you down to your knees and up to your neck

leaves you worshiping
your god and / or the golden throne
and / or stuck with the cheque.

But even if it doesn’t bluff and does make me choke,
I’d still rather my fires have smoke.