Word of the Day Poem: Nosophobia – an abnormal fear of disease.

Call It

You can call it hypochondria
the itching and scratching and rising of your skin

when it has my fingers poised above it

or when the raw chicken I’m handling makes its way
close to your bread
and no manner of washing will run the germs from you.

You can call it nosophobia
when you won’t kiss my fevered head
or touch my poison-ivy’d hands

when the white pallor of my skin

sweats upon your own.

But you won’t call it indifference
when you refuse to answer me after a question

or stare at me while I run animatedly about my passions
neither commenting nor expressing

or remain silent when the texts pile up on your phone.

You will call that listening.
You will call that politeness.
You will call that a conversation.

I will call it



Talk at me while I eat

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