A Boy In Buenos Aires

I’ve been mugged by a gang
of common cold viruses,
never saw them coming,
very professional in their stealthy approach.
They stripped my nose of smell,
and left it bleeding gray gunk,
decorum dissuades further description;
my throat, with viral graffiti scratched on its walls,
begs cherry flavored, mentho-lyptus mercy
for the indignity of such gravelly, grating art.
It is Summer!
they’re supposed to be marauding
in the Southern Hemisphere.
A boy in Buenos Aires is running and laughing
with clear nasal passages,
while I take a decongestant every 4 hours.