Infinite Bile

I am Mike’s Liver…
Your hepatologist proclaimed
you would die years ago
and he attended Harvard.
Doctors are so seldom right,
especially the Ivy Leaguers.
You feel you have failed him.
Of course, he didn’t know
that your liver is a distant
cousin of Keith Richard’s,
assuring it a long, long run.
You try to be helpful.
You keep drinking to no avail,
trying to make things right,
but your liver spurns you.
Your liver falls from a coconut
tree yet still it thrives.
The tiny determined viruses
keep on chomping in vain.
Your liver disdains their
incessant, futile nibbling.
It burns away bourbon.
It is too proud to quit.
You are in for the long haul,
victim of an off key organ
that won’t stop playing.
Your liver will outlast
your already faltering brain.
But that is a good thing.
You won’t have to keep
wondering why you aren’t
dead, feeling guilty for
waking up yet again, and
letting that doctor down.
If you like this piece, and can afford it, consider donating. My liver is begging for bourbon.

