Pills

The pills I take of varied hue

Are said to be the very best

Although I question what they do

For head, for loins, for bowels or chest.

Now here I have an oblong pill

I think was meant to heal a horse

I swallow since it’s all downhill

And hope for better but get worse.

It only makes it past a tonsil

And then it catches in my throat,

So that the trip from mouth to torso

Is stopped midway or maybe more so.

My face turns purple then to red.

The pill’s lodged somewhere in my head.

I think I’m going to need some X-rays,

But then it turns and goes down sideways.

Now the pill has reached its goal

And for a while, floats about all whole

Until it finally breaks up into pieces

To treat insouciant diseases.

The pills are gone, I think I’m cured,

Except that now my vision’s blurred.

I’m hot and cold in rapid flashes

And foresaid torso’s sporting rashes.

But really, there’s no need to shout.

I could be dead; I could have gout.

But till my lovely fever eases,

Bring chicken soup and duck my sneezes.