Poetry by Jeff Green



by cricketjeff on January 31, 2010.  © Jeff Green, All rights reserved

When the nasty norovirus finds a victim for its fun
He may find himself exploding like a dirty water gun
In between evacuations he will find a fitful rest
But it’s not a bowl of roses, as this poet can attest

When the nasty norovirus holds a victim in its grips
It wont be romantic wordplay that is falling from his lips
Sitting down composing love songs is the last thing you will do
When your bum is firmly welded to the loo

Well that nasty norovirus may be vanishingly small
But it tried to stop me walking and I had a nasty fall
Now my guts are dancing rumbas and I’m feeling bloody sick
So I hope my antibodies can defeat it bloody quick

I assume that norovirus will eventually let go
And I’ll witness the cessation of the most unpleasant flow
But until I feel I’m better I will not come out to play
If you’ve any working braincells you will stay the hell away!