A nose is such a ruddy hoot -
sloping south between the eyes
with tubes flared out
like a hungry Hoover
sucking in fuel
for the old bio-furnace.
Ah, the multi-faceted proboscus!
You can turn yours up,
look down it on a twit,
blow it out
or stick it in where no one wants.
And we can thank our noses
when we linger for a spell
to savor a fragrant rose
or flee the traces of a polecat’s rage.
Yet, for me, the finest part of having one
is cutting loose a mega-sneeze -
that blows off like Vesuvius -
while everyone tenders blessings!
of all the things a nose can do,
nothing beats it when it sneezes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem