under the weather

under the weather,
but
not dead,
not yet.
the bug has struck.
the bug
has laid down its
tent,
amassed its forces,
and planted
a flag,
demanding a surrender.
but I don't.
I fall back,
I lie between the sheets,
I engulf
myself
in books
and movies,
drench my thirst
in cold water.
chicken soup.
chicken soup.
chicken soup.
I find comfort in
the sweet sleep
of fever
and wait.