We pass like zombies
shuffling down the hallway
Each lost in suffering
Dressed alike in rumpled bathrobes
We do not speak
Occasional groans suffice
But after twenty years of marriage
who needs words?
The doctor says that we caught the flu
My temperature is one-hundred and two
I hear you cough in the next room
and I am strangely comforted by your presence
Still- I think you are my knight in shining armor
I am one sick woman