12/14/2025
During flu season, brave warrior soul,
May your sanity flicker but not fully roll.
May your hands stay pruned, eternally damp,
As you hose liquid regret from a toddler’s pants.
May your immune system rise, do not fail,
As a child open-mouth coughs straight into your sclera with zeal.
No warning. No cover. Just germs to the face.
You blink once and whisper, “So this is my place.”
May your coffee be lethal, dark as your thoughts,
Brewed from despair and whatever sleep you forgot.
May it hit hard before your brain can object
To functioning on fumes and pure disrespect.
May the teachers stay standing, God bless their fight,
As 60% of the school goes down overnight.
Emails roll in. The group chat ignites.
“Another gastro case.” Cool. Great. Good night.
May your stomach hold steady, don’t you dare gag,
As you peel vomit-soaked sheets from a bed like a flag.
It’s warm. It’s aggressive. It smells like defeat.
You briefly consider just buying new sheets.
May your rage stay dormant, deep, buried, asleep,
When your spouse strolls in cheerful and asks, “How was your week?”
You smile too long. Something feral ignites.
You choose peace. Barely. By the skin of your life.
May your mind not unravel, may it cling by a thread,
As Cocomelon chants softly inside of your head.
Eight hours on loop. You no longer blink.
You hum the songs now. You don’t even think.
And lastly
When you’re crusted in bleach, cold coffee, and doubt,
When your body is tired and your patience is out,
May your heart still remember, through chaos and mess,
That your arms are their safe place, their comfort, their yes.
Stay strong, dear parents. Survive if you can.
Flu season is feral.
Godspeed.
Amen.
-Tayla (mom of 4)
