The Sickness


After the first hack I knew it was no cold.

I think of it with wonder now 

and wonder how much mucous it measured to be.

Diagnosed a week after agony,



The thing your mother fears when you

forget your gloves, your coat,

your socks.


Fatigue kept me down and mucous kept me up.

Sputum arose in 10 minute intervals,

the big ones in 20.


Like vomit without the acid, the chucks.

Just thick and gold and brown and green and red.

I always pictures the stuff balls scaling my esophagus,

like desperate slugs, searching for freedom,

tickling my throat to be released.

The hacking came so often that

my family no longer flinched at the painful sounds

It'd never disrupt their programs again


And now, 

the mucous is heavy in allergy season

my lungs hold the grudge 

For now they are not whole are

forced to function through scarring that does not.



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