A true, horror story
I realized, when we spoke, you
Had been resting in your bed.
But my daughter, young and spastic,
Had touched a prophylactic
As it seemed a balloon, instead.It lay there on the sidewalk
Purple, festive as a peacock
And begged to be explored. Oh, Dread!
Her clean, angelic fingers!
Lo! The image still it lingers!
Burned forever in my head!
And a mental state near manic,
That I scanned the street for a friend.
O ho! Your street, was just one block
On your door, pal, we must knock
To plead for help. To beg!
Perhaps some bone shears and a cauter?
“Save her!” “Take the arm!” I said.
But my friend, cool collected,
Let us in and so directed,
“To the sink!” and halt the viral spread.
Abraded, scraped, and in no rush,
Situation, critical, now stable
That no further horror beset us.
That litterbugs need busting
And little girls go through hell.
Don’t care if you’re in sandals
And I’d as soon see ’em in a cell.
So next time, dummy, bring Purell”