Thick Air Again

This morning, felt that old tickle start.

The air outside turned sharp and mean.

It made a home inside my heart,

A familiar, unpleasant scene.

My head felt stuffed with damp, gray wool,

My eyes watered and burned.

The world seemed distant, slow, and dull,

Lessons I hadn't learned.

A glass of flat ginger ale sat by,

The ice had long since died.

A ring formed there beneath my eye,

Where something sticky tried

To harden on the rim, a pale

Brown crust, like weak tea left too long.

A detail that would never fail

To make me feel so wrong.