For the Connoisseur of Gout (a curtal sonnet)
Gouty toes are tickled pink by beer:
Light Ale’s frisson melds mace and mustard seed
(due to the way urate is crystallized) .
Lager’s snippier, like Grandma’s pinking shears
while Porter stings like a pet centipede
and Stout’s clout is pure Heaven – vulcanized.
And if your toes get hooked on pain – relax!
Just post ‘em off to Rehab. All you need
is bubble wrap, tape and a medium-sized
cardboard box. Oh yea, and one small axe
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
I'm sure if I did I wouldn't treat it so lightly.
Comments about this poem (For the Connoisseur of Gout (a curtal sonnet) by Diane Hine )
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