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.