You were the thrill of a childhood wrapped in sickness.

Months of endless childhood complaint

in which the hero and heroine captivated me and in which an adventure

was of my own undertaking.

A bout of Bronchitis, battled on one side like a punch bag

with its stuffing flowing out onto the cold gymnasium floor,

the victor raising his hands in mocking tones

high above my head and placing the sickly taste of camphor oil

on harsh felt pillow and scratchy woollen blankets and taunting me

with the knowledge that as I grew older I would not