I would find: I’m in a bind and moaning also groaning
’cause not at fault me.
Yen to be on the mend; I’ve spent some time to whine at nurse;
my purse is less bulky.

Now I have grokked what’s scary:
Nurse says what I don’t want: “You’re sick!”
My head is feeling thick;
I would scream, “Fick!” in Germany.
Ain’t no palaver blather—“Pale you are, and frail.
It’s an infection; that’s a certainty.”

Yes, just yet she has confirmed my hunch:
How I’m really struck—pained an egregious bunch.

My nape’s on fire, Covid’s sired…wish this were just shtik,
but sickness quickly came my way.
My grating nerves are frayed…afraid this is no joke,
And broke is the cruise that’s now lame, I say.

’cause I’m a Typhoid Mary.
For days I will not be set free; in fact, I’ll be in misery…
tear out my measly mane.
I cannot go to lunch with folks and munch, make my teeth crunch
upon the leaves of sweet Romaine.

This very bad news is like a punch
to a gut sans grub—i.e., devoid of lunch.

Came without warming, virus swarming, passed through mask
and basked within. That fabric couldn’t bar
the virus Dharma’ why’s my Karma’s wrong?
Not strong, me, so I’m stung and sunk; I’ve gone subpar.

I am a Typhoid Mary.
In my stateroom I must remain till I regain a lessened pain.
Can’t get onto the shore.
That is about the size of it; apprised am I;
say my goodbyes to open skies, sites to explore.

Got the pestilence, bummed like a schmuck.
Cruise was wretched; struck, tainted, ship ain’t good luck…!

Shit out o’ luck!!