Bronk 06/04/96

Caught. In the throes of a cough.
Small internal earthquake,
vocalized, realized, unmeasured.
Catching breath, trying to,
a Red Sox second baseman
circa 1996, erring.

Functional, impaired.
Continuous, reverberating, intermittent.

This poem, describing a cough,
continues, will continue, until
a certain someone arrives at
the bar I sit in.

She has told me before that I
set a mood in a poem and then
undercut it.
When she arrives, I'll admit
that she is right.