Billy laid in bed
with his bare feet propped by the window -
certain he'd catch pneumonia,
then he wouldn't have to go to school
and explain to Mrs. Addison
why he didn't know the names of all the capitols.
Billy didn't know the states' names, either,
but one good case of pneumonia would cover that, too.
There was no use faking -
Billy's mother used a thermometer and everything.
It would have to be the real thing.

If only he had one of those tape recorders
James Bond once used
to learn Russian while he slept.
Compared to Russian,
fifty capitols would be nothing.
Maybe he could learn the fifty capitols in Russian.

Billy had seen a show once
where a statue of somebody
turned into a real person
and helped some lady out of a jam.
But Billy had already checked -
Jesus was glued solid to his cross.

It was no use;
his legs were starting to hurt,
and he didn't even have a runny nose,
much less a sore throat.
And besides,
nobody ever caught pneumonia in May.