Chest cold It is cold. My chest feels iceberg-ed.My lungs, freezer-burned.This infection is wrecking, wracking.You know the sound of a fingernail on comb teeth? That’s the sound in my throat when I breathe. Airflickering. Yes, I’ve seen the doc.I’ve swallowed the meds, suckedthe meds, slept and slept and now the cold is in the words. At least I can… Continue reading POEM A DAY – May 20