This tender lump forming on my lower lip,

harbinger of a cold to come,

a viral foothold, a beachhead on the face,

will turn ugly, encrusted in coming days,

putting a moratorium on kissing, sharing glasses.

Even as it fades, sniffles will begin.

Herpes simplex, they call it, a little cousin

to that nasty social disease.  No wonder folks

look upon me like a modern leper.

The TV ads espouse a cure, a prescription

to nip that little beggar in the bud.

They say, we can stop it before it starts.

Of course, such promises are always followed

by a litany of side effects and warnings.

I say, let the lesions fall where they may.

In this world of guerrilla antibiotics,

where we are breeding juggernaut germs,

I will suffer this little badge of infection.

06/10/2003

Posted on 06/11/2003
Copyright © 2024 Bruce W Niedt