Booger Verse



Booger is a word that is

so very hard to rhyme.

I searched the net and scoured through books…

Only one word did I find.


I found it quick…but rejected it

for this poem that I compose

…about the gooey mucous

that hangs out in my nose.


Should I forsake my booger verse due

to lack of words that rhyme?

There must be some solution to

a challenge so sublime.


Why should it be so difficult

to compose this poem so simple?

Should I compose my verse about

…a scab, a boil, a pimple?


But poems of such innanity

are not what vexes me.

Like Ahab, I chase this Moby Dick

across a rhymeless sea.


I took a break, strolled down the path

that leads into the forest

when, all at once, “Eureka!”

I ran back for my Thesaurus.


“Of course”, I whooped, “I’ll substitute!

Not booger, I’ll use snot!”

The rhymes came quick like Alexander did

slice through the Gordian Knot.


Words like cot and Hottentot

and spot and trot and blot

Not to mention pot and sansculotte

and others I forgot.


There’s microdot and caveat

and diddly-doodly-squat.

And Lancelot in Camelot.

Sadat and Huguenot.


From polyglot to tommy rot

to Johnny on the spot.

And, if you please, forgive me Maine,

there’s also Penobscot.


There’s astronaut and cosmonaut

and fruit like apricot.

Kilowatt ….megawatt

And Fields would add “Qumquat!”


But snot is not the poet’s lot.

This topic shows no promise.

Perhaps I’ll write of love’s lost flame

or life or death or hummus?


Should I compose an ode to spring

Or leaves that fall in fall?

A eulogy for folks who’re trampled

….at Christmas in the mall?


Perhaps I’ll tilt at windmills, or rail

…against the latest war,

where death is just a bottom-line

for businessman and whore?


“I think that I shall never see”

Joyce Kilmer aptly said,

“A poem as lovely as a tree”

But now that tree is dead.


It gasps, it chokes, it falls and rots

The cycle not renewed.

We hasten by without a glance

absorbed, we pick and brood.


And Boogers are all different…

like snowflakes it is true.

Some are slimy, others crusty,

some are just plain goo.


King and Queen, Pauper, Prince,

Fool and Saint, and Sinner!

All must heed the clarion call of

“Pick me a Winner!”


To roll ’em and to flick ’em

Is a universal treat.

If one-year-olds could talk, they’d say

“They’re pretty good to eat!”


I tossed my silly poem about

the less than noble booger,

whose only rhyme is (ironically)

A word as Sweet as Sugar!


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