It’s the pollen,
my friend says on our morning walks.
We share the excuse--
she for the mask, I for the not-dry cough.
At night the excuse wears thin,
troubling my sleep as if
it might be my last,
making each morning the more glorious.
One month to go before such alibis wear out,
when my friend no longer need explain her mask
and my Benadryl must step up
and be my miracle.