:date: 2019-01-13
:save_as: poems/fpk.html

=============
 Home Remedy
=============

.. role:: raw-html(raw)
   :format: html

:raw-html:`©` 1996 Barry A. Warsaw

| I once was annoyed with the holes in my head
| My smeller was busted, my taster was dead
| My feelers were broken, and deaf were my ears
| And all that came out of my seers were tears
|
| It bothered me often and soon I despaired
| These things that weren't working could not be repaired
| But then came a product that fixed all of it
| A simple, home facial proctology kit
|
| I saw the commercial and went to the store
| They weren't too expensive; I bought more than four
| I got my kits home, and unwrapped the stuff
| The directions were certainly quite clear enough
|
| I stood at the mirror, applicator in hand
| And deftly disabled the child safety band
| Five minutes of practice with tweezers and glue
| It was easy to grasp what the levers would do
|
| Attaching the tip to my head was a snap
| I was hopeful that I'd soon be rid of this crap
| And so with an eagerness I went to sleep
| The tape would prevent it from slipping too deep
|
| My dreams were a fleeting and humorous kind
| The burden that held me would loosen, unbind
| It wasn't the first time I'd sleep-laughed with joy
| Though this one induced by my marvelous toy
|
| No longer would strangers think me a jerk
| I'd see, smell, hear, taste them -- my holes would soon work!
| My sleep sopping thoughts gave me reason to hope
| That I could reduce my dependence on soap
|
| I grew semi-restless as night became day
| The new dawning sun burned the blindness away
| A surprising new sound was the chirping of birds
| Though still half asleep, from my pie-hole came words
|
| My meat muscled tongue, through its thin tartar coat
| Could taste the sweet phlegm at the back of my throat!
| Now more fully awake, I arose just to shit
| Thanking God for that facial proctology kit

----

This poem was written in Charlotte, NC, in the wee hours of the morning at
the Colonel's house.  I often wake myself up laughing, with a joke or a funny
(to me) phrase.  My wife often isn't so amused.  Anyway, **facial proctology
kit** came to me in a dream, and this poem nearly completely wrote itself
during the following 15 minutes.  I've modified a few things here and there,
but the final product, which you see above, was largely written in one shot.