February 18, 2005

fever

By Tony Brown

i woke up this morning wanting you
the way a kid wakes up hoping for a fever:
hoping it won’t be bad enough to hurt,
hoping it’s just hot enough to excuse
misbehavior.

thinking of a school kid stumbling out of the kitchen
reminds me: i’m supposed to be this hot
when i move. i’m supposed to be
a little delirious. i’m not supposed
to be able to speak well, or to make sense
the way i always do. this is why they call it fever.

you say i’m supposed to be in school? at work?
at home? if i’m sick i should have a flannel tongue and
a small-bore temper, not be smiling like this?
well, hellcakes on a plate: i’m here, i’m flushed and i’m shaking.
feed the cold, starve the fever? that’s the oldest wives’ tale.
this fever is already a starvation,
so let’s talk papaya and banana cream.
let’s talk mango and bathtub and red linen; and
this fever’s got a tongue for tango,
so let’s talk heels.
let’s talk boots.
let’s talk plum crazy and sheer toe.
let’s talk fast and loose,

and then let’s quit talking.

let’s be reasonable:
i’m not ready to go back to school.

About Tony Brown

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A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown
This entry was posted on Friday, February 18th, 2005 at 1:01 am and posted in uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.

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