Poetry Summer Week 8: Sick by Shel Silverstein

Boy, I'm posting a lot lately--that's what I get for signing up for so many things that require it!

Is anyone else noticing that memorization is getting a LOT easier? I just memorized and passed off Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night in about 30 minutes. Of  course, it has a lot of repetition, and who knows if I'll still have it in my head tomorrow, but I'm duly impressed with myself regardless.

This week's poem is departing (slightly) from the recent theme of death and gloom by talking about faking a sickness to get out of Things We Don't Want to Do. No, I don't empathize with Peggy Ann McKay. I've never recited the first few lines of this poem on particularly harried mornings. Why do you ask?

Sick      

by Shel Silverstein

"I cannot go to school today,"

Said little Peggy Ann McKay.

"I have the measles and the mumps,

A gash, a rash and purple bumps.

My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,

I'm going blind in my right eye.

My tonsils are as big as rocks,

I've counted sixteen chicken pox

And there's one more--that's seventeen,

And don't you think my face looks green?

My leg is cut--my eyes are blue--

It might be instamatic flu.

I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,

I'm sure that my left leg is broke--

My hip hurts when I move my chin,

My belly button's caving in,

My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,

My 'pendix pains each time it rains.

My nose is cold, my toes are numb.

I have a sliver in my thumb.

My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,

I hardly whisper when I speak.

My tongue is filling up my mouth,

I think my hair is falling out.

My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,

My temperature is one-o-eight.

My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,

There is a hole inside my ear.

I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?

What's that? What's that you say?

You say today is. . .Saturday?

G'bye, I'm going out to play!"

Chime on in--Peggy Ann is a very strange child/person, no? None of us responsible adults would ever do anything like this, right?