Poet's Korner

The contents of my
digestive tract ejected
onto the tabletop.
Like a bilious fire hose
of ignoble design.
My innards feel scooped
out and my ribs a bit
tender. I'm only human
after all--but isn't that
just a copout used to
forgo perseverance?
I welcome suffering as
an opportunity for
personal examination
and moral clarity.

--Dr. Peebles