How do I loathe thee o childhood asthma? Let me count the ways.
I loathe thee with all my depth and breadth and might
My motherhood can reach, when my daughter is coughing out of sight
With nights of vomit and tears running down her face.
I loathe thee to the level of disgrace.
Most breathless affliction, by bedtime and nightlight.
I loathe thee strongly, as mothers strive to make it all right;
I loathe thee quietly, as I ready the nebulizer and calm her malaise.
I loathe thee with a passion to guide her through this choking maze.
In my naivete, I thought the inhalers and propped pillows would protect her.
I loathe thee with an aversion my daughter is smart enough to see
I loathe thee with my whole breath, untainted and clear,
As my daughter gasps "Are you mad at me?"
I shall but loathe thee better after you just leave my daughter alone.