Catarrh

Meanest Bouncer of visiting oxygen Like a scarf of coarsest jean, Ever keeping it and the nostrils at arm’s length, Displaying its suffocating strength. Oxygen keeps loitering at the fringes of the nasal chambers, For as long as Septembers are from Decembers: Kind of dreading an entry into them, To the sufferer causing a paradise of problem. Catchers, like a cross, hold their inhalers: A pathological fear of everything parading propellers; Tasty meals are robbed of their appeal, Stylish dishes of chefs not a Big Deal. Justifies the banging of doors against cold And auctioning of freezers, not to be cold: A pointed sealing of windows seldom shuttered And shutting of the ears to sopranos shattered.