Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis - Poem by 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.
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
Anyway, none of the above will get me.
But, I do have what you have.
The young and grown.
The able and ill.
A sweeping hand.
A second hand
Setting infectious nanogerms
In my Time-x.
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