ASTHMA

Try sucking air through pin holes.

 

Somewhere between

the restroom floor

and the hallway

I suck air.

Sponge-filled,

molecular pin holes,

gasping.

 

I am a meteor by pieces.

         Pieces of a comet.

         Heading spinning.

 

They’ve scrutinized me

under seeing-glass,

They’ve scheduled more

times that,

I can count…

Before I pass

out or die

they scramble.

They smother.

Air becomes puffs

of pumps.

 

 

Reviews

[Kaa Na Kalyanasundaram]

Air becomes puffs

of pumps.....yes true. good poem