THE FEVER

I had a couple good years I built a golden age
One gig at a time I earned every dime
Selling my intellect - my truth
Without the hurt of breaking through
I was intimidating yet approachable too
Till I was derailed by a humble flu

Now I’m blessed with all this
Unspent inspiration
I wouldn’t wish this upon my enemies
I wouldn’t wish this upon my enemies
But I hope they die for it

I wrote the most toxic, twisted love songs
For the girls back home
Would have played nice at a Walmart
At the ending of days
Could have been covered
By a jealous Tom Waits
Too shy
Afraid
Of putting my mom in an early grave
I threw them filthy love songs away
But she died anyway

Now I’m blessed with all this
Unspent inspiration
I wouldn’t wish this upon my enemies
I wouldn’t wish this upon my enemies
But I hope they die for it

I been watching my mother’s slow death
From a distance
They say her body been slowing down
For decades
Probably started in the fourth grade
When the fever moved into her lungs
Went and colonized
Now he rents it to his friends
On the weekends

I hear their feverish chatter
And I can’t determine
My mom from her neighbors
Their Judah her Benjamin
New or Old Testament
You know the temperament
You seen it on the news

And we got complicated feelings
About the scope and course of healing
And I thought
Another twenty years could have healed her
But the doctor decided to bring her home

And now I’m blessed with
All this unspent inspiration
I wouldn’t wish this upon my enemies
I wouldn’t wish this upon my enemies
I wouldn’t wish this upon wish this upon you

Why did it come to me?

©Tom Troyer 2024