Flat days

Fourteen days 
in March 
when the ides 
were flat 
As a February 
pancake 
turned into a haze 
of memory 
Blank with fever 
and chills 
and breakfast in bed. 

The doom and gloom 
If it
was sufficient to scupper 
Ideas 
of anything remotely useful 
or fun.
All I could contemplate was flowers, 
on the wallpaper. 
Their colors fading as 
the days 
dragged on. Their shapes 
mocking 
my lack of power 
To change 
my situation or escape 
my fate. 
Fourteen days in March 
when the 
ides were flat. 

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