Booger (Notevember 2022, #23)

“This cold will be the death of me.”
I think that’s what I said
as I was leaking snot,
more than could fit inside my head.
“It’s stealing half the breath of me”,
I croaked out through a cough,
and wished – but not out loud –
that it would polish me right off.
But seasons passed, as seasons do.
And me? Well, I did not.
But still an itching in my throat,
and still a flood of snot.
In spring, it was the allergies.
In fall, the cold returned.
In winter, I would blow my nose
until my nostrils burned.
I prayed, then, to Saint Lucas:
“Let the doctor make me well.
Tell God to smite the mucus.
Send these boogers straight to Hell!”
But I’m a bare-bones has-been now.
My coffin’s mostly mould.
Oh, I’ve been a dead while –
I still can’t shake this bloody cold!