A poem by my alter ego, Hamish Sheaney, on that annoying bodily struggle with colds and flu.....
The
dribble-drool of the moist slobber
ooze-drips a
slop-spill of saliva
in the
mucous pool.
I wipe a
slime-stream mingled
with the
salt-sweat wetness,
gather
several spots of snot-grot
in my sodden
nose-blot hankie
and head off
to Boots to collect my prescription.
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