There I am
laying on my back, sprawled across the blue blanket
in exhaustion; I drag the mentholated air
into my crackling lungs.

I hear the rattle from within as I let
the air out
tis not a death rattle, nothing so easy
as that. Only the process of life
of breathing in and out
crackle in crackle out.
Asthma.

Partnered with a prosaic cold; I am offended -
I prefer my illnesses more exotic.

Or not at all.
Yes, not at all is what I prefer these days.