When you are sitting on a train texting your fiancee'
'Love, I am going to be late'
I will cough, because I will have pneumonia
and you will look up and see my purple tee, my clouded
judgement in a purple streak of hair
to rule the black locks that naturally curl around my face.
Your phone will drop, as well as your jaw
as you stare into my grey-ish blue-ish hell-ish eyes
that are so weary, exhausted
from all the coughing and aching in my chest
my slender frame will be slouching.....
You'll move closer to me, ignoring your fiancee, now
on the nasty floor of a train, stuck in someone's old
chewed up gum. 'Hello? ' her text will say. 'Hello! Babe? '
your phone will buzz as you keep moving near me.....
You will fall in love
immediately as you gasp
at the beautiful string of snot dangling from my
small pierced nose, taunting you like a rattler in front
of a four month old baby.
And my heart will scream and ache for what you
have inside your pocket....
You will stutter 'I.. I think I...have a tissue'
My nasal discharge will wow you, tease you,
You will want nothing more than to rush to
my side and pick me up, sit me up straight
and wipe my damn nose.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
How would the rest of us look normal if it weren't for wack jobs? Thanks for helping us Ms. Crowe