POEM # 16

Ragweed season has begun
The pollen count is high
Your allergy attacks
Ever grow nigh

And the kerchief you use
The one you always keep near
Stitched and monogrammed
By the one you hold dear

Has a surprise inside
You’ll not discover
But it has to do with me
And my secret lover

It will not be visible
To your naked eyes
But its pungent scent
Is sure to soon arise

For when you bring it
To your red face
To stem the mucus’s flowing
There’s likely to be a trace
Of whom I just finished boning

You see after your wife finished me
As we lay tangled in the loft
It was your treasured kerchief she
Used to wipe me off