Poems About Lungs

Soon, very soon, I will post poems in a much sexier tone. As soon as I find a rhyming word for 'vagina'....

Lungs. This week our household was all about the pink sacs of air that rise and fall gently, unnoticed, at least until they start fuckin' up and squeezing a little too fast, or not enough. Girl-child and I still have bronchitis-y coughs, and Boy-child is still taking asthma treatments. Friday the doctor will tell us a further course of action for him. Other than suing big chemical companies for polluting our air and causing our generation to experience more lung-related problems than ever before.

It's late, folks, and I hope these poems don't reflect my total lack of creativity. Or if they do, that I can show you the stack of doctor's office receipts I've collected and be granted immunity.

Sergei bought some cell phone rings today, songs, and I nearly came in my pants when he played the first one, "Santeria" by Sublime. (I'm still pissed at the lead singer for OD-ing, you stupid muthafucka. But I love their music.) I needs me some funky phone jams.

And now, with no further hoo-ha, I present to you:

Poems About Lungs


With All Apologies to Baudelaire (mon dieu, not en Francais):

Poumons

Come to my arms, curvy and swollen thing;
Hefty in your D cups, come to my arms today,
For I would plunge my face in your cleavage as play,
And be happy in your healthy lungs, hyperventilating --

And by that I of course mean your wild, lustful lungs,
Those two perfectly pink globes that hang
And cause within my loins a glorious pang
That sends me home unsatisfied, speaking in tongues.

I long to squeeze, to rub them, I think that if I could
Make you forget you’re my patient,
And here to provide a service most ancient,
I could show you my exquisite length of wood.

Do not get me wrong; I am not oversexed,
I am merely concerned about your health,
And will examine you myself, with much stealth,
Because your heaving lungs do leave me much vexed.

My undoing, as doctor, is seeing you each year
To gently probe and swab a sample,
And feel your...er...lungs...warm and ample,
A breast exam is all I’m doing, really, my dear.

So I implore you, undo that front-tying gown,
And let this appointment hereby prove
That my bits and pieces you do move
As I watch your lungs rise up...and down.



With All Apologies to Toddlers and Blackbirds

Sing a song of sex-pants,
A pocket full of girth
Four and twenty coeds
Sunk him to the earth.
When the doctors found him
The man began to pant,
“I surely could have done them all...
But breathe? Oh man, I can’t!”

His wife was in the dentist’s chair,
gettin’ good and drilled.
His son was at the local pub,
gettin’ good and filled.
His daughter was a’courtin’
A tall and handsome sailor,
Wasn’t that a stupid thing
To forget to bring his inhaler?


With All Apologies to fans of Sublime, and those who practice Santeria:

My lungs practice respiration
As I breathe in and breathe out
They surely come in handy when I...scream and shout

If I could get some Nyquil, and some Benedryl Non-Drowsy,
I’d pop a can of Fresca and feel...not so blowsy.

What I really wanna know (now baby)
What I really wanna say is pass the Vicks
‘Cause it’s air that I breeeeeeeathe
My lungs will have to wait til I heal up

Damn airways feel like brick.
Momma’s gonna love Robitussin
I feel the cough, feel the cough, feel the cough
and I gotta let ‘em out
(choke, hack, wheeeeeeeze)
Well I’m back to cussin’,

What I really wanna know, (now baby)
What I really wanna say is that this blows.
Bronchitis! Make it go,
My lungs will have to.....

What I really wanna say, (now baby)
What I really wanna say is that’s just fine,
And I’ll make it,
Yes I’ll heal up,
Tell that doctor that if he knows what is good for him
He’d best go run and hide.
I’m gonna spread my germs far and wide.

And he won’t think twice to jam that stick straight down my sore throat,
Believe me when I say that I want a shot in my punk ass.

What I really wanna know, (now baby)
What I really wanna say autumn’s here
With the colds,
With the flu and allergies
My lungs will have to wait.
(yeah, yeah, yeah)


Stay outta the rain, my friends, make a hot toddy, and enjoy the autumn breezes! (Just don't stand too close to me or you'll catch 'mona'....)