Today my body cried out for a verse of lamentation:
3. Coughin' Ask how I am, and I'll say, Better than I was, but hardly well. My voice is rough, I hawk and splutter – so much sputum to expel. A punchline pun my dad told often: 'Someone stop this bloody coffin!' Prostate cancer saw him off, not his endless smoker's cough. I'm two years older than he lasted. Minds my age see lack of breath as one more harbinger of death, but I know this is just a blasted, blooming virus that's a pain – I'll soon be tissue-free again.
Me fail? I fly! 