In celebration of an upcoming commercial holiday and to help inspire others to enter The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest, I will write a love poem every day this week.
While those, intact, may shout and strain
And boast of their unscarrèd frame,
I cradle thee, my abdomen –
Less able to fight pathogens.
‘What, what?!’ say friends, in some concern,
‘Methought t’appendix was to spurn.
Surely, ‘mongst the var’yous ‘itis
The worst is appendicitis.’
True; surgeons call you, ‘trivial;’
The textbooks say, ‘vestigial.’
Yet, something tells me, in my gut
You’ve purpose; we just know not what.
And so, my years-departed friend,
Though you so nearly caused my end,
I’ll mourn my loss; I’ll cry, betimes
Whilst I eat more of active enzymes.