A Disposable Savior

I travel the world,

yet I see nothing but glimpses.

I’m left with teeth marks

from carelessness.

I’m covered in a powdery chemical

and my cold metal core is protected

by a dented, scratched, red plastic shell. 

I breathe life into one,

but I run out of life myself.

I wait for the next inhaler to replace me.

All I do is give.

All any of us do is give.

I only bestow my breath so another 

can safely jog a lap.

Our lives are put on a counter.

A little plastic screen showing how

many breaths I can share.

And when that counter hits zero 

and I’m shaken— I sound empty.

I’m tossed.  I’m replaced.