A Sonnet Sent to a Certain Body Part

I write to you because you have become

A nuisance.  In the past you were a huge

Part life required.  Your Self was pretty dumb

But sly enough to turn me into stooge

And victim.  Others were your victims too.

You had your way with all, unlucky us.

You wouldn’t let me rest until your spew

Was splatted out, your spew like warm white pus.

You had your way of growing into pouts

Until we could not snub you.  Then you forced

Your will on us, became demanding spouts

Inside until your final proclamation coursed.

  Despite the fact that I do not need your

    Discomfort now, I cannot find a cure.

~ Phillip Whidden