The Cold Revised

A prophet’s never known

Among her own –

Especially by one she’s wed to.

He’s abed.

He’s got a cold.

She’s got hold of techniques potent:

Pressure on those points oblique,

Baths and steam,

And as I speak,

Gone phlegmy pangs

And reams of snot

From sinuses and nose and throat.

Alas, alack, he’s stuck all stuffy, prone,

He and his cold,



Words in the air

Don’t reach his ear

Or mind, and certainly not intellect.

He doesn’t want neglect

But can’t accept

The profit of the prophet.

So he coughs and sputters,

Spews and suffers.

She, not known

Among her own

No matter how ‘spot on’

The common Sense.


The Cold 11.15.2016

A Sense Of The Ridiculous; Love Relationships II;

Arlene Corwin

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: