The fluorescent hum the packaged light

The fluorescent hum, the packaged light,

the quiet hum of other lives.

Then, an itch, a sudden bite,

my throat just cleaves and strives

to clear. I double over, deep,

my chest a drum against my spine.

No polite cough, no gentle sleep,

just a wet, raw, rasping whine.

I felt their eyes, a hundred pin-

pricks on my burning face.

This ugly sound, from deep within,

had no place in this sterile space.

My mouth, a bitter, lozenge taste,

too much anxiety, too much shame.

My public self, a thing laid waste,

just coughing out your name.