Infectious throat poetry

Sometimes, one is so inspired by one's own self and one's afflictions, that one doesn't need a visual to inspire poetry.  Like a hypothyroid.

This is a season in Mumbai, where there are noticeable drops in temperature, lots of pollution at ground level, and throat infections are common. I've tangled with adenoids, tonsils and stuff with the children when they were small . But never really suffered myself.

They say old age is a second childhood. Don't know about other aspects, but my recent affliction, along with a hypothyroid (sluggish butterfly shaped neck gland),  had me trying to manage flows from all orifices of the face (except the ears).

 As i looked up from the sink, into a traumatic visage in the mirror, that I realized was actually me,  somehow the idea of writing this poem on it all, was immensely cheering.   :-)   (Lots of poetic licence taken, doctors may object)

 


Page three adenoids
normally
spic and span pink,
now trying push off
layers of yellow white
in infectious disgust.

But , food
be it chaat
or paté de fois gras,
as is it's wont,
tries to sneak down anyway.

Till it hovers
around
the thyroid,
the butterfly gland,
obese due to overwork,
but
still doing its job.
like a good hypothyroid should.

Somewhere,
the butterfly wings flutter
in a hurry,
getting a
spray of food back
to the lazy adenoids,
who dither
and push everything right out.

 
Sometimes we don't know
if the corruption
is due to
adenoidal status conscious bureaucrats
or the
fluttering loyalty ministers

But wouldn't it be nice
if we could
throw up
and simply throw out
all of them
sometimes.....?