Sauci Bosner

There was a time when a cough was a good sign.

To cough up the smoke induced congestion.

To cough up a chicken bone that got stuck.

To cough up a glass of lemonade that went down the wrong pipe.

To cough when someone tickled you too much.

There was a time when a cough could betray you.

To cough while hiding in a closet

or crouching under the floor in Mokum

or smothering under a haystack in Friessland.

These most innocent coughs could indeed

reveal your presence to a foreign enemy,

the neighbourhood bystander or the outstander

who never really wanted to get involved

anyway.

Where did that cough come from?

Where did that noise come from?

Who has ever really given thought to a cough?

People might say:

One little cough is not anything outstanding, revealing

or of any consequence.

It is they who do not forget.

Mice do not cough.

Roosters do not cough.

Rats do not cough.

Bats do not cough.

People cough.

People cough up the truth.

In times of betrayal and revelation,

in times of suspense and isolation.

In times when other people

are frightened and have forgotten

the reasons

why