My last couple of weeks have been fairly eventful and have prevented me from working my regular work schedule, which sucks because I need all the hours I can get. Last week I was got viral conjunctivitis (pink eye) and was quickly followed by a bad case of bronchitis this week. Therefore I have not gotten very much sleep for the past 2 weeks and being sick and stressed out is no fun. It did, weirdly enough, inspire me to write some poetry. It’s probably not my best work, but it made me feel a little better at the time.


I hate all this coughing,
it makes my head throb
like it will explode
from all the pressure inside.
Then there’s the several minutes,
or so it seems,
later before I can finally get my breath back.
It’s like having a panic attack,
and I have force myself to breathe slower.
it feels like the elephant in the room
is sitting on my chest
squeezing all of the air out of me.


My lower back and ribs
feel as though
I have been stuck in a corset all day,
and not one I am wearing for kicks.
Then of course there’s the block of mucus
that has camped between my sinuses
and my lungs,
refusing to budge,
which is of course
the reason why I can’t stop coughing.
I also have the death rattle,
which sounds almost like
the a needle on a record player
before and after a song ends,
all scratchy and alone.

For some reason,
the coughing is worse at home.
Maybe it’s because my husband
has the same affliction.
Maybe it’s because
Misery loves company,
or because my body knows
I’m trying to go to sleep soon
and it wants to give me the finger again –
the way it does every time I sneeze or cough,
and my bladder is suddenly doing its impression
of Victoria Falls.
Buggery, Buggery, Buggery.
This is the second year in a row
that I’ve gotten this.
Maybe I should’ve sprung for the Albuterol after all,
least then I would have been able to breathe properly.