Wheeze

(With no apologies whatsoever to Alfred Joyce Kilmer.)

I think that I shall never see

A beast so ruthless as a tree;

Whose majestic blooming buds

Have filled my sinuses with crud.

A cheery harbinger of spring,

Oblivious to my suffering;

A tree who pollinates all day,

Plotting 'gainst my nasal spray.

Whose blossoms blow their gentle sighs

Directly in my swollen eyes.

A nest of tissues in my pocket rests

(An extra tucked between my breasts);

Seasons announce themselves with roses

My fanfare comes in blowing noses.

My head fees like a sewer drain,

Who intimately lives with pain.

Anyone can plant a tree,

But only God would do this to me.