Asthma

Asthma
by Betsy McKenzie





I have disaster in my chest:
Pompeii, slowly buried, choked
With ash and pyroclastic flows.
Hot ashy mud-sludge
Oozes down the paths.
My little bronchi, panic-stricken,
Run madly, trying to dig out the exits.
Too late: Vesuvius is smoking again!

Or is this more like Venice?
Slowly sinking, drowning in its
Beautiful watery grave.
Shore it up! Sweep out the
Cellars... Bailing like mad to
Keep our access to air.
Even after I clear the pipes,
Gasping in air with
Shuddering force:
Dodged a watery death
Just one more time.

April 28, 2007

Waiting for the Storm

Waiting for the Storm
Betsy McKenzie

I feel the pressure changes building up
In my arthritic joints and neck and head.
Some big storms feel like pressure cookers,
Building up a head of steam inside me.
The relief, like a cocked valve,
When the rain or snow arrives!
How strange to find peace inside the storm.

February 12, 2006