Ode to the Sick Bug (for World Poetry Day)

Dear sick bug that’s made all of the boys, in my family puke over floors and toys, please can you sod off and leave us alone, I’m at point break and I’m needing a moan.
I’ve scrubbed all the toilets ’til my hands are red raw, and I’ve cleaned up the sick that covered over the floor, I’ve jousted the toilet with the toilet brush, my moral and my joy you decided to crush,

The spew and the splatter was too much to bear, it was hard staying composed when trying to care, for 3 boys and 1 man who were as sick as can be (cleaning up poo is more far more hideous than wee)

You have taken over for almost an entire week, I cried and I sobbed and I began to freak, but I dealt with it all, said “don’t worry” with a grin, then I ran to the kitchen to pour a huge Gin,

I’ve no idea how I’ve avoided you, bug, you’re an arsehole and have made me look like a mug, but for now it appears that we’ve defeated you, the bug that has caused all this sickness and poo,

Until the next time that you get through our door, and you leave me begging and pleading “no more!!!”, so long for now you complete and utter git, now I’m off for the last time to finish cleaning up the sh*t.


This. Is. War….