Pursed Lips

Robert Cooperman

My diminished stamina?

I take in too much breath to expel,

but you show me how to blow out,

pursing my lips, not holding my breath

and exhaling in a giant explosion—

like a whale through its blowhole—

ineffective and exhausting.

Along with a pulmonologist’s inhaler,

my pursed lips let me exercise,

though I’ll never run a marathon,

not that I ever did, but at least I don’t feel

like I’ve gasped through twenty-six miles

when I climb a flight of stairs.

But what I can’t get out of my head:

those pursed lips: remembering seeing

To Have and Have Not as a kid,

Bogie telling Bacall to walk around him,

taunting he comes with no strings attached,

and she comes back with,

“If you want me, Steve, all you have to do

is whistle.  You know how to whistle,

don’t you, Steve?” her mocking purr.

“Just put your lips together and blow,”

and now all I want to do is purse my lips

and kiss and kiss and kiss you forever.

I’ve been suffering from shortness of breath for quite some time, but recently got good advice from my wife Beth about one way to deal with that problem, and also from a pulmonologist. Also, for our 50th anniversary, I thought a poetic tribute to Beth was very much in order.