Never to Be Dislodged

Dust rode in on the clouded air, stopping on the way down to the lungs. Dry dust that coats the throat like a sandy slicker. The pestering grains riddle its reflexes, and the driest cough shudders the air. But the unharmed dust, unmoved, perches unworried in the most unreachable centers of the unhappy esophagus--never to be dislodged.