Never Mind

While packing, I tensed up – of course I did.
It doesn’t matter how I reassure
myself – I’m nervous and I can’t get rid
of psychosoma – I don’t know a cure.
I coughed with throat too tight – the exhale’s skid
reminded me of Covid, and the tour
of colds last week within my family.
My worry raced – the symptom passed – oh, me.

(Ottava Rima)

This entry was posted in Coronaverse, Health, Personality, Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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