Winter Ailment

The Widow Wyile has been taken by bugs
exosomes or what you will
and rendered ill
t’is not a chill
but truth be told     it is a cold
a not joyous crowning story
but one that will end well 

Gorgeous is a great secretary
but not the most gregarious nurse
she’ll serve up hot honey lemon
in a trice though it could be prepared
with horseradish words
of dubious healing properties 

Gorgeous is not particularly solicitous
preferring to keep to her chosen Capra pursuits
unlike her esteemed great great uncle
le bon Docteur Chèvrefeuille
who strapped his black medic bag
securely on the luggage rack
of his trusty red-fendered-bicycle
his polished hooves pedaling
daily about the countryside
to check on ailing neighbours
stopping by streams   in glades
under generous trees
at cave mouths and leaf mounds
at burrows and nests
to dispense ointments, sachets, and other curatives
to treat ailments of every kind
in all weathers            indeed
sometimes to his own detriment

Gorgeous is adept at applying poultices and plasters
and is a moderately wise herbalist
yet she finds the Widow’s week-long languishing
a touch tedious and is getting grumpy
at the severely reduced menu
so in the last days she’s tossed her head
to shake off the equally endless rain
and gone out to nibble at greenery
holding forth in the snowless garden
where brassicas reign
with hunched shoulders
cramped by semi-winter cold
And given the Widow is in poor shape
to protest with vigour and certainly cannot
restrain her four-legged goat-headed assistant
she hopes all the while that she’ll have the sense
to leave the Rhododendrons
well enough alone at least!

le docteur en forme et de retour

Neither the Brassicas nor Gorgeous cough
the problem lies entirely
within the Widow’s purview
rather low and rather sluggish too
but perhaps, thinks she
they are so far ahead
they need no galactic upgrade
whereas she is sure this latest sojourn
in liminality will somehow be
t r a n s f o r m a t i v e
and at any rate she’ll have
caught up on what seems like weeks
or maybe months
of late-night reading
also known as the inverse
of what it sounds
for it results in an insufficient quotient
of time spent asleep 

how much of this tale is tall
and how much consists of porkie pie
you’ll have to do your best to tell
in this great era of terminological
in-cough-cough-exacti-facti-tude