My hugs aren’t made of Zithromax
My kiss provides no antidote
No cough suppressant in my touch
seeps through to coat your troubled throat.
Thermometers my fingers aren’t
My ears can’t top a stethoscope
My tears won’t douse your fever’s flame
My fuss won’t make the germs elope.
I let you cough into my face
And wipe your nose on my shirt sleeve
Infections mock my vain attempts
To beat them back and make them leave.
I’ll dose you as the doctor writ
Since hope alone will never heal
But add the love she can’t prescribe
until good health is all you feel.