Smoker’s Cough
by Jack Gaulter
Honors Tutorial College, Ohio University
Jack Gaulter is an 18 year old first-year English major at St. Lawrence University and plans on graduating in the Spring of 2026.
Smoker’s Cough
louise’s father has a cough “louise,” he says, “listen close -
that comes from the depth of his lungs, you and i are naught but ghosts
it curls up in his chest in a world completely turned to chance
and sits up in its nest, and we must become earth’s sycophants
ready to pounce when he runs. so give yourself up to the sky
listen to its lullaby;
louise’s father tells her of times feel the gospel on your skin
from before the world turned sour. sent sincerely by the northern wind,
he lays her head down count every single bug you pass
and shakes off a frown and look in every piece of glass,
and mumbles his stories for hours. taunt the bear and poke the hive
live for more than staying alive
louise’s father twitches his fingers and if you do, i swear, my girl,
and curses the sky for a cigarette. you will have given me back my world”
he carries her slow
through rain, sleet, and snow,
dutifully answering “are we there yet?”
louise’s father fires a gun
into the head of a wild man.
he covers her eyes
and comforts her cries,
while looking to see where he lands.
louise’s father finds a house
empty and wrapped up in ribbons.
they search through the drawers
on each of five floors
and louise finds a package all hidden.
louise’s father dances
when she hands him the box
he twirls her around
taps his feet on the ground
breathing fire whenever he talks.