Viruses (not the electronic sort): Poem

This was me, the last week:

'Viruses are my sister's children

who have come to stay at my place

for the weekend.

They try to get into the cupboards.

They draw with thick crayons

on the back of my throat.

They run up and down inside of my head

with small hands covered in marmite and jam

which take forever to get off the walls.

They bang pots and pans on the floor.

They wipe their feet on the centre of my tongue.

They cry loudly in the middle of the night.

Sometimes they swing

            on that dangly thing which hangs

                                    from the back of my mouth

                        until I cough.

I eat broken biscuits all week.

No wonder my nose runs.

'Viruses' by Glenn Colquhoun (NZ poet, and doctor)

(Photo courtesy of Neonnettle.com)