I have posted so many heavy poems lately. As a former, longtime hospice nurse who’s had her own near-death experience, it seems so natural to me to focus on death and dying. Both of my novels are serious and deal with themes of loss (and hope and redemption). But, believe it or not, I love to laugh. So today for the rally I decided to post a bit of humor…maybe not the best poetry, but hopefully you’ll enjoy. And to those of you who suffer from ear worms, read on. I think you’ll understand.
The diagnosis sounds atrocious.
It hinges on repetition.
Songs that jingle in your head
make you wish that you were dead.
What’s the cause of this disease?
No one knows for certain.
Since the tunes don’t always please
they can leave you hurting.
You just confessed you do obsess
on this catchy melody:
“‘F-R-E-E, that spells free,’
rattles round inside of me.”
Just yesterday it went away,
I didn’t think of it at all
until that damn ad played again.
Don’t you know, it will not end?
“Cognitive itch”—that a son of a bitch,
could it be God’s call?
The message you were meant to get:
“It’s a Small World After All.”
They say that ear worms can’t be fought.
That only makes you angrier.
The more you scratch the more you itch
and bury it in your memory.
There’s not much that you can do
to stop these “aneurhythms.”
Try to sing the whole damn song,
loud and clear, to pass it on.
When the “hum-bug” gets to you
try to find distraction.
until another one pops in.
Then it all begins again.
“Maim That Tune” you may recall,
means you’re normal after all.