Since the entire weekend the pains
Of coughing got worse and neither
Whisky nor painkillers worked.
Struggling through the night
The morning broke
The poet pushed himself up
To reach the rooms of Dr W
At opening time.
Twice along the frozen brook
He had to stop and hold on to
His blue crutch
Avoid falling down along the
Short way
That seemed to be three times
Its usual length.
The clock tower stroked 6:30 am
And today even Mrs M was
Arriving late.
Apologizing due to this inclement
Siberian cold
That swept across Weidling
Over night.
Already two patients were ahead
But the poet had to thaw up and
Control his chills meanwhile.
Doc W handed him a prescription
And the poet was straight back
To his home
Where B offered her help to get
The medicine for him.
He took to bed and slept until
B arrived
Took the medicine
Went back to bed and slept.
Waking and sleeping for another day
Slowly drove the Australian cough
Out of the poet’s lungs
But it’s a tough and slow process.
Good night Vienna.
Do well my friends!
zoltanzelan
ZJG-POetry’18.
