There was a feeling at the back of my throat
that I just couldn’t swallow
  
I lived with it
the way that I live with a song
that gets stuck in my head  

Then it began to migrate
to my eyes
to my stomach
to my knees

I could taste it

every time I tried to breathe
my chest would shake  
My throat vibrating staccatos
as I exhaled

I needed somewhere to lay my head
until I could choke it down
or cough it out.    

The feeling was a little rubber ball             
It had no color           
It had no name  

It bounced around in my head,
much more dangerous than a song             
This rubber ball was mine
and it might never fade  

If I couldn’t sing it out
or give it to someone else  
I’d be stuck with my rubber ball
until they take it away

When no one is looking
I throw my rubber ball
I smash it on the rough concrete
outside in the street

Sometimes
I aim it at the bare light bulb
high on the ceiling.  
My rubber ball is bruised
and scratched
and burned.  

This rubber ball that is mine
doesn’t count.  I don’t want it.  

They will take it away with
the feeling at the back of my throat
that I’m not big enough to swallow