ragweed

I think I have
the flu
she says.
coughing into
the phone.
my bones ache, my
eyes itch.
I'm tired
as all get out.
my brain
is scrambled
like a pair
of eggs
on a skillet.
she sneezes,
then blows her
nose.
it sounds like
a small train
in a tunnel,
blowing its
horn.
ragweed, you
tell her. pollen.
junk the air.
then you both
sneeze at the same
time.
it's been awhile
since you
felt this close
to her.