48.
Baby fever - whole days
of coughing sickness.
Jesse sips cool water
out of a sippy cup/bottle
bleary eyed, all the usual
baby movements droned
into a ponderous red slow
down, and cold/cool wind
gusts outside, creaks
at the windows and whistles
like fall fevered ghosts.
Reminds me of being a
boy in the small town
library as cold weather fronts
came tumbling gusting over
the town.
.
I would check out Tom Swift
books, sometimes Hardy Boys -
rarely ever finished reading
the books I checked out.
I was more interested in the radio
and riding bikes through alley
ways and cutting over people's
manicured lawns on my giant
purple fendered bicycle I
inherited from my dad - an
adult bike from the 60’s with
white wall tires - was a hell of
an eyesore but the best bike
I ever owned.
I’m 44 years old now - spitting
tobacco into an empty yogurt
container while actually both
fever boys sweat it out in
their bedroom across the hall.
Jesse’s tight cough and
Lowen complaining to go
downstairs. Jesse tries
to make a speech ‘Ah gwah,
aah ah cootah, quah ma
da, ah , awwwwww’ (sip, sip)
Lowen is more direct -
‘I see a butterfly!’
he yells delightedly,
all eye-ears-enthusiasm.
Huge wind outside, window
creaks and giant engine
snarl flat bed weight
KAWAP-a-WUMP and tinkly
chain friction as a truck
passes by out on east
Cuming street north of
our ramshackle house.
Our mailbox out there too,
occasionally
stuffed with bills
and other bits and flaps
of semi-laminated junk.
Ash kisses on Jesse and
attempts a conversation
as he takes his tiny hand
(fever-hand and hot armpits)
says ‘mom’ as he touches
her lips.
Everyone’s sick today
except me - sort of
dodging the bullet through
some miracle or other.
That is, until it taps me
on the shoulder and I too
will wake up with that tight
dry nowhere-cough feeling
like a dog burning
in hell.
(November 7th, 2014)
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