The gift of a child so adorable, good memories lessen the horrible.
My eardrums are bursting, my dry throat is thirsting, your timing is just so incorrigible.
Sinuses strained and throbbing, nocturnal weaving and bobbing.
Normally a machine but you got between. Now I’m weak to the point of sobbing.
It’s true that you’re fleeting, but also deceiving is your name, the Common Cold.
Because there’s something abnormal about the way you’re so formal in leaving me out of the fold.
I have work to do and pounds to eschew but can’t overcome the wheezing.
Instead I lay prone, a broken drone, disabled by violent sneezing.
When I feel better, I’ll get myself together. A honey badger anew, I vow.
I can’t breathe when you stay, but you won’t go away, so I leave my mouth open for now.
becky sarwate 