TuberculoseA Chapter by Sel Whiteley
This coat staves off more than just the cold night.
He coughs all the bloodied phlegm
from his lungs and life. He is alone, crying,
despairing as a child. In the brimstone
of Belfast’s building sites, he had long laboured
to build his way out of poverty’s thick dust.
© 2009 Sel Whiteley |
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Added on June 25, 2009 Author
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