When you see your shadow
following you around, you
may imagine someone
working for the FBI, CIA,
or any of those surveillance
agencies has been assigned
to sneak around behind you
when you go to pee. Maybe
this is part of covid brain fog,
toying with me when I’m
barely conscious, stumble
trying not to fall, on the way
to the can. I’m aware of my
shadow, that I’m always being
tracked by that suspicious
streetlight outside, as I zig-zag
across the floor, and hallucinate
I’m not alone. What I’d not
remembered advertised is
the fever. The body aches
and the headaches are nothing
compared to feeling you’re
the Hoover Dam, and you’ve
broken down, your soaked
sheets and pillowcases ample
evidence of the break’s ruin.
Over the past three days, I’ve
sweated gallons, taste sips
of water when I wobble back
and fall in to bed, guaranteeing
I’ll be seeing that shadow again
in a few hours when he follows
me to the bathroom once again.
Then again, maybe he’s been
assigned to make sure to catch
me if I should stumble and fall.

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