LESSONS Poem by Mario Petrucci

Easy for me, your son,
youthful lungs trawling in one sweep -

cigar smoke, omelette,
the girl next door.

One day I told you
how in physics we'd calculated a cough holds

billions of atoms Galileo
inhaled. It took a full

week for your retort -
as always, off the nail. Must be I've used it

all then. From Siberia
to Antarctica - from slack-

pit to spire. That's
why each draw's so, so bloody hard.

Your drenched face was me,
silenced. Had to catch you

last thing, at the foot
of your Jacob's Ladder, ascending to the one

bulb of the landing
toilet, to tell you

I'd checked with sir.
You can't use it all, I piped, not in a hundred

million years. You'll get
better. Just wait and see.

Mouth bluish, a slur
suspended over your chest. Fist white

on the rail. You said
Don't hold your breath