A Man Cold

‘A man cold’ By Stanley Russell Harris The new mad author & A Poetry Soup honourably mentioned poet It started with aches and pains you know. Yet, no swelling did my limbs show. But every time I moved in bed! My brain just laughed and said, not yet! Then my voice began to croak. I sounded like a frog. This is no joke. No one at me did a finger poke. Then the sneezing and coughing appeared. My body heaved from them I fear. Old operation sites began to say. ‘This we do not like today.’ Then the sweats and still the cough. My nose ran like a tap, I could not turn off. Then the chills, I felt so cold. Was it because I was so old? Then when I stood on my feet. The room swayed, would I the floor soon meet? I mean, would I fall off my feet! As really I felt so weak. On day five my voice came back. Now it’s day six and it I do lack. Oh, did I not say what’s wrong with me? I have a man cold, you all could see! Best not, or you might catch it from me. At the least I hope that’s what I do have. You don’t want to share it with me. But if you do, I will sympathise. Honest, I will, that is no lie. Just one question I need the answer to know. ‘When will this blinking man cold go?’