Sunday, February 5, 2012

From the Poetry Page: A Bother

A Bother
No, I may not be your lover, but I'm the one that haunts your mind,
I may be a bother, my memory is the intruding kind.
Forever you may push me out, forcing my memory to go away.
But I think you will remember me, my dear, until your final day.
It will dawn on you that my love was true, and stands the test of time.
But you may try to convince yourself that I was nothing more than slime.
I may not be the chilling ice in your bubbly coke,
but I'm the milk ring at the bottom that makes you want to choke.
I may not be the wound or the band-aid on your skin,
but every time you pull it off, there I am again.
I may not be your nose, or the bugger you pick out,
but I'm the place you wipe it off, under the couch, no doubt.
I may not be the toilet paper when you’re wiping out your bum,
 but after you are sure you're clean, I'm that final drop of cum.
I am not your fever blister where you apply all that goo.
 But I'm that ugly virus that makes that blister become two.
I'm not that hot pepper you picked up with your fingers,
I'm that burning in your butt where your finger lingered.
Every time you kill a bug, smashing it to mush,
that bug and me both innocent you see, until the final crush.
Every time you do those things, those nasty things you do,
There I'll be, all pristine, smiling back at you.
Nov 10th, 2005

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