Humour / poetry

To Spite My Face

Cut off my nose

to spite my face,

as man-flu flows

from head to toes,

forehead feels hot-

an awful case-

both nostrils blocked

by congealed snot.

I sound all wrong,

too out of place,

to sting a thong-

No! Sing a song!

 

All that ails me

solved by a brew

of hot whiskey

and a – achoo!

 

Fluids flow free,

dehydrate me

at rapid pace,

strength of a sea.

As flow goes south,

strange thought about

an open space,

reservoir mouth-

a turbine tongue-

my mind unstrung,

fevered headcase,

all thongs unstung.

 

A running nose

wins no race, so,

cut off my nose

to spite my face.