My chest clenches
and I fumble in my pocket
for the Nitrolingual spray.
I’m walking
my damaged heart and dog
through tall gums.
You can watch so much
television, you can nap
just so many hours
then you itch
to do things, simple things
like stretch your legs
and walk.
I stand under a tree
to catch its breath.
A Nitrolingual mist
is working its way
through dank slums
to open the way ahead.
Zimmy sits at my feet, tongue
hanging like
a flag at half mast.
‘Come on,’ I say,
‘let’s go.’