I am ensemble—
some bodies’ semblance,
seeming solid,
blanching porous—
a Lego Frankenstein’s
monster,
made of germ blocks.
I am phlegm’s
Adam-ondi-Ahman,
a more good gathering
spot infected in time
and time’s past before
God ran out of cheeks to turn.
I cough up crude
nicknames of terrestrial
endearment and convenience.
My head, shoulders,
throat and lungs,
throat and lungs, throat and lungs;
head, shoulders, throat and lungs,
spew out the spies and tongue’s
invaders.
I am the thrill of Mormon’s defeat,
the agony of Satan’s victory.
ahchoo!!
Poet’s Notes:
The above poem started as notes scribbled in bed before dawn. After sunup, I opened my laptop and went to work. Soon began worrying my original notes were just passing thoughts I should not have taken seriously, let alone publish. Then I remembered I am a poet-blogger and have a job to do. I invite you not to think too hard about the above piece. But if you do think too hard about it, comments are welcome.
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com.
“I am phlegm’s
Adam-ondi-Ahman,“
I don’t know what that means. I don’t know what it could mean. But I love it. Which is funny because phlegm is one of the worst words in the English language. I would ponder the phrase but I’d have to think of phlegm and that is not going to happen.
Ha! I’m glad you enjoyed the wording. It was fun to come up with that line. For me it is about the notion of a gathering place, in this case for phlegm. Yuck! Of course, there’s probably more than one valid reaction to a line like that.
Then there’s the whole reality of a single body actually playing host to many beings with competing interests, and how does each of us feel about that, be it our personal body or our church. Again, differing reactions inevitable and welcome. Thanks so much for reading and responding.
As I lay here slowly dying,
knowing that my body trying,
battling to stave off death.
All my symptoms, all the aching
pains and rigors, body shaking,
hoping yet to see the dawn.
Will I overcome this coughing,
and the life force in me dropping
struggling with my last breath.
And a Z pack me denying,
Did my doctor send me crying
back to bed to wait, anon.
And my spouse is at me stressing
that I’m not yet up and dressing
looking like she’d like me gone.
And so in prayer I lay here pleading
for a miracle I be needing
the answer to my plea came bold,
suck it up, it’s just a cold.