Francie Lynch


I don't have pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis.
I'll stay a hundred miles from Yellowstone.
If one's asthmatic in the Eifel,
You're excused from pronouncing 'P.'
This won't kill me.

I don't have COPD.
Everyone coughs in blue smoke?
My throaty itch won't kill me.
I won't constrict and choke.

I don't have an infectious disease, regardless of my personality.
I run for shelter under my unbrella under acid rain.
I drink water with ice cubes and spray my putting green.
As much as I hate to, I avoid rusty nails.
Sex is safe... and at a distance.
Despite being repedetly told to, I never eat shit.
The great imitator apes a snivelling mime.
If I'm bitten, I recognize the teeth marks,
The erupting ring of fire won't kill me, but perhaps I was precocious
To drop the 'P' in Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis.

I haven't succumb to animal flues,
And stay clear of the bars.
I donate money to the SPCA,
Bet on ponies and the odds of SARS.

I don't have meningitis.
I enjoy stagelights and loud music.
If I get the night sweats,
I turn down my electric blanket.

I haven't the minor or greater pox.
I spurn comparisons.

Accordiing to the scoop and scope,
I ascend and descend C free.
But those infernal referrals
May be the death of me.

I don't have botulism.
My smile still concaves down,
And curling convex above it,
A condescending frown.

I'm not a leper. I fell every poke and like.
My digits number twenty... twenty-one.
My glasses are smudge free.
If anything, I see too well.

Alcoholism can't kill me.
Alochol can.

I haven't cardio entropy,
But I'm remiss if I dismiss
Counsel Oz once gave to me:

'Hearts can never be made practical until they can be made

So true.
So true!

Anyway, none of the above will get me.

But, I do have what you have.
The young and grown.
The able and ill.
A hand.
A sweeping hand.
A second hand
Setting infectious nanogerms
Like diamonds
In my Time-x.

Submitted: Monday, March 03, 2014
Edited: Monday, August 25, 2014

Topic of this poem: apocalypse


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