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Carrying sickness when you’re old 

is not like the halcyon days 

of soup and game shows, even if 

there’s shag rugs and red juice. 

There’s an added weight of knowing 

some dying cells will never be replaced 

and there are limited hugs left you. 

Also, you have to pull your own blankets

and hope they’re enough to bury 

worries of whatever else you’re not doing.

There’s plenty to fill the quiet but 

little to draw you closer to the next season, if you’re to make it there.