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  • Byron Ellington

Dear Doily: Help! I’m Full of Pus!


Dear Doily,

‘Twas a kindly summer night,

Warm even past the low’ring of the sun

Beyond that fateful line

To which we ascribe the name Horizon

And I was in the midst of setting

The sheets of mine own bed,

In preparation to lie myself

Upon them down and slip so soundlessly

With tranquility and peace into

That gentle dreaming state called sleep,

When suddenly (far too quickly

For my faculties of mind to process

Before the realization became so bodily apparent

That I would find myself in need of writing

To an expert such as thee, my gracious Allergen)

A condition overtook me and consumed

My every waking thought

So thoroughly that I could not find the strength

To fall into the sweetness of a slumber,

For the fluent matter which does

Distinguish this condition mine

So currently possesses, commands,

And inhibits every particle

Of my somatic self, spoiling all points

Upon my flesh and organs,

Destroying all mine hopes to ‘haps receive

And conceive of peaceful dreams

Beneath the moon and stars

This night so formerly pacific

(But now accursed with the terrors

Of this affliction priorly unknown to me

But now all too entirely familiar,

Following the marring of my being

By its action unto my corporeality),

And this unanticipated encumbrance lamentably is thus:

I am full of pus! Please help!


Full of Pus

Dear Full of Pus,

No biggie, puss is full of us too.

Yours Truly,

The Doily Allergen


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