Excerpt

Excerpt from Looking for Alaska by John Green

You complain…

…about not having any real friends.

Make them.

BE one.

Auto-Immune

(a poem written by Bill Wheatley)

She rejects whatever is alien,
poetry, Voltaire,
saxophones,
waving it away, like the plate of
octopus
the waiter tried to put down
in front of her
at the hotel in Portugal.

“No, no, no, no!” she cried,
as if it might
infect her
with strangeness.
This kind of immunity keeps her strong
while I can catch
almost any stray virus.