E.coli for the Summer

The wedding is over,
the music has died-
yet inside my body,
an electric slide.

The bride has departed,
the groom, he is gone.
I tango with Satan
in the port-a-john.

Goodbye to baked ziti,
so long turkey stew.
Depart from my stomach
into the deep blue.

I’m leaving tomorrow;
or so I had thought.
Alas, see the havoc
my illness has wrought.

Grandmother? Grandfather?
Oh, how have you been?
Could you spare a bathroom
for one of your kin?

A flowery shower
becomes my new home.
A strong stream of water
to wash down my loam.

This nightmare continues,
now into my sleep.
My body the painter,
the canvas my sheet.

I wake the next morning,
come up with a plan
to evict this sickness
out into the can.

I’m way too fatigued
to go to the store,
so in grandma’s kitchen,
I start to explore.

There’s pots and there’s pans,
a magic eraser;
but then I discover
the large turkey baster.

The region in question
is not unexplored-
but a much wider entrance
will need to be bored.

The plan is quite daring;
I muster élan,
for soon my intestine
will be autobahn.

The barrier breached,
and the agua inserted.
A rapid procession
of foodstuffs converted.

The remnants float by,
some of which I can label.
Their entrance delicious-
their exit disgraceful.

My body expunged,
I believe that I’m cured.
Now to a bright light
I am suddenly lured.

The floor of the bathroom,
all tiled and cool,
is where grandpa finds me,
mouth dripping with drool.

One hospital bed where
two nurses revive me.
Three litres of water,
sent in through an IV.

A sample of stool
is all that’s required.
Yet here comes the signal-
my sphincter’s retired.

Oh well that’s okay,
‘cuz your blood shows E. coli.
Oh my fucking god,
I will die, doctor, won’t I?!

The patient assuaged,
medication prescribed.
Off into the sunset,
my grandmother drives.

A week passes by,
and I slowly recover.
I eat ratatouille,
since such is my druthers.

Back home I return,
now with summer body.
Fifteen god damn pounds
I have shed in the poddy.

So to the new couple,
much love and abundance.
Just at your next weddings,
please wash the damn onions.

Ramsey Daniels is a stand-up comedian and writer living in Brooklyn. He produces a monthly comedy showcase at Easy Lover in Williamsburg; follow him on twitter (https://twitter.com/ram_punzel) and check out more of his writing (https://www.the24hourdramaclub.com/)!

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