My Little Golden Book of Phobias

Tonight's the poetry reading and between my clogged wi snot head, my intermittent hearing problem and the omnipresent codeine cough syrup, I don't feel mentally well enough to face the public. And then there's the issue of what to read-accessible or 'other'. Maybe I'll mix it up. I have my horse poem.

My cough is IMPRESSIVE. When do you know you've moved on from a cold to bronchitis or pneumonia? Do I have to break a rib coughing?

Finally, there is the question of what to wear tonight...because I could be a credible tubercular Chopin, what with my symptoms and all. I'm pale and anorexic-there's that. So I could go with the white shirt with big cuffs and black everything else. I could waft up to the podium with a hanky, stained red, and cast my soulful glances about while I read. Then I could slide slowly to the floor, artistically crumpled while my pages float off.

Then there are the new boots. I could build my ensemble using them as the base. So many decisions.