Being Counted Poem by Randy McClave

A foul stench arrived and was introduced to my nose
Brought to my attention by food not properly disposed
My eyes then watered and then I got ill
Fetid food had made me sick and green to the gill
Then it gave my stomach aches and gave me the woes
My blood pressure boiled and then my nausea rose.

Quickly I left the kitchen and headed for the bathroom
So there my sickness I could quickly resume
Into the toilet I hastily returned my lunch
Along with my breakfast, and also my brunch
My stomach was emptied from all food consumed
Then upon my face, clothes and body I quickly perfumed

Onto the street I quickly ran for some needed fresh air
I noticed the many people that were walking and talking out there
They were hustling and bustling and many were obscure
Even though they were worried and sad, and even unsure
Many of the people were liars and cheats, and they did not care
But they knew how to curse, but not how to say a prayer.

So now I figured it best to leave when the food is rotten
And I remember as well, some people are best when forgotten
When it is my turn I thought, how do I want to be counted
By the food that I saw spoiled, or by the people I have discounted
Until then I will hold my nose and in my ears I will place cotton
I will eat only what is cooked, and I will ignore the misbegotten.

Randy L. McClave