If Amy Lowell Had It
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Far away In the third-floor-back of my skull I feel a light, airy, prurient, menacing tickling, Dainty as the pattering toes of nautch girls On a polished cabaret floor. Suddenly, With a crescendo like an approaching express train, The fury bursts upon me.... My brain explodes. Pinwheels of violet fire Whirl and spin before my bloodshot eyes— Violet, puce, ochre, nacre, euchre ... all the other Colours, Including jade, umber and sienna. My ears ring, my soul reels. I tingle with agony. Who invented goldenrod? I wish I were dead. Aaaaaaarrrrrrhhhaashoooo! |
HAY FEVER
If Hilaire Belloc Had It
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With this handkerchief and this nose Seven million separate blows Neighed I, brayed I, sobbed I, blew I, Snorted I, wept I, mopped I, crew I, Tickled I, prickled I, groaned and moaned I, And for all my sins atoned I; Raged I, sniffled I, and exploded, And a speedy death foreboded, Swayed I, prayed I, shook I, shouted I, To expensive doctors touted I, Gobbled I, hobbled I, atomised I, Cursed I and philosophised I, Worked I, shirked I, lay and lurked I, And in horrid spasms jerked I, Camphored, menthol'd, and cold creamed I And asthmatic nightmares dreamed I, Those who hate me highly pleased I, And—I'll not conceal it— SNEEZED I! |
HAY FEVER
If Edgar Lee Masters Had It
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Ed Grimes always did hate me Because I wrote better poetry than he did. In the hay fever season I used to walk Along the river bank, to keep as far as possible Away from pollen. One day Ed and his brother crept up behind me While I was writing a sonnet, Tied my hands and feet, And carried me into a hayfield and left me. I sneezed myself to death. At the funeral the church was full of goldenrod, And I think it must have been Ed Who sowed that ragweed all round my grave. |