There are human experiences that find relief only in the writing of extremely tacky poetry – the kind that Uncle Joe would read aloud at his great-niece’s wedding, laboring under the impression that he has produced something clever while everyone else ate cake. (“Her mother and father did her adore, Little knowing what lay in store…”)
Thank you for indulging me. I’ve found there is nothing like a bad rhyme to lift the spirits.
A few years ago we vowed sickness and health
But what that entailed I couldn’t have shown ya
The germs staged a coup and attacked us by stealth
The year I had bronchitis and he had pneumonia.
The children were coughing, the fevers were rife.
I said “Hello, doctor? I thought I would phone ya
Hubby says when he breathes he is stabbed by a knife
I bet I have bronchitis and he has pneumonia.”
The comforting thing is that all of this landed
Into the first month of the new year we’ve known
So the rest can’t be worse than the scoop we were handed
When I had bronchitis and he had pneumone.
Unless of course somebody dies and gets buried
Or my mind says Goodbye pal, it’s nice to have known ya
…Or a cannibal sharpens his axe to debone ya
…Or the orthodox church takes a notion to stone ya
…Or the wrecker has an accident right while he’s towin ya
…Or a stranger says Here’s a black backpack to loan ya
All things considered, I’m just not that worried
Since I had bronchitis and he had pneumonia.