staring blearily into my bowl,
gazing into a single eyeball!

where'd it come from?

I don't know,
It can't be real,
so I take my hand and feel...

All around my cracking jaw,
On my chin and on my maw,
On my mouth and every dip,
Of wrinkled ridges round my lips.

Nothing's wrong, seems to be,
With this certain part of me.

So I stick my finger in my nose;
Why I did this, I don't know!
Stuck so hard I couldn't see
What popped out...
My eye, you see!

And then I could see no more.
Two eyeballs staring from the gore.
Up to me their empty sockets,
Like two glistening bloody rockets.

My oatmeal ruined, and my day.
And so please listen when I say:
Be a good child, fold your clothes,
And never, ever, pick your nose!

© S. Farglebopp

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