Our lovely, busy, stressed-out daughter,
But still she rallied, hopeful still –
Until she drank that lemon-water.
Her illness played its grievous start
Upon the trumpet of her ass;
She ripped a double-forte fart
More poisonous than mustard gas.
That richly seasoned blast she blew
Began the oratorio;
She crab-walked to the nearest loo
And sang with all her glory. O –
That trombone’s raspy pedal, and
That bass bassoon she hooted through!
And while she led this hellish band
A thousand meals were blasted, too!
Here’s breakfast from December! Here’s
A lunch! A snack! An apple core!
And worst of all – remember? Here’s
Her dinner from the night before!
The bathroom, once a neutral white,
Is painted now an autumn brown.
It’s time, she thinks, to face the night –
But prone, and wrapped in eiderdown.
O, people come and people go –
They throw their parties, dance and sup;
Her parents go enjoy an show –
But Lily? Lily’s throwing up.
– 27 February 2016