Tight fists
grip and
twist, trachea
clipped, breath
gasped through
cocktail straws,
upright in bed
the night
a rasp
in my head.
I grasp
the little
metal can
encased
in plastic,
suck in
chemical puff--
the straws get wider,
the night grows kinder,
the fingers loosen their clench,
oxygen is flowing in. Congratulations,
Albuterol, my hero...you have done it again.
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