Laryngitis

The cotton in my throat is growing
A synthetic polyp making a home in
the vacuum of my voice-box;
one week in, I can't even say,

"the hell is this."
​
Samson drew from his seven locks
what I lost in seven days, but
without the worming body of this
parasite inflammation
I could make the pagan rafters shiver
and more,
make the people listen

This situation is especially grim
in a being that is otherwise unremarkable:
short in stature
slanted in eyes
When you give an ant a roar
more terrifying
than the growl of thunder
or the end of times,

you lean in.
you listen.

But a mute ant is only an ant
or only a splatter under your boot,
barely anything at all