ODE TO A WART
June’s wart resembled a spring flower that looked like a pink posy.
It grew beneath her upturned nose; in winter it turned rosy.
In summer it was pale and dry, and flaked away like dust.
If June should sneeze it whistled sounds that sang In God We Trust.
June could have had it burned away, but since she was no cutie
she kept it as a beauty mark she’d somehow use for booty.
Then came the county fair last year; June joined the talent show.
Newcomer Junie sang and danced, and oh how she could blow.
In perfect pitch Amazing Grace took the blue-ribbon prize.
How Great Thou Art was June’s encore. No listener had dry eyes.
June quit her waitress job last year and joined the traveling show
in which the cast, comprised of freaks, drew crowds in sun and snow.
June nose-hummed songs like Old Black Joe. Her a cappella noodle
nailed Sewanee River at first try, then mastered Yankee Doodle.
She might have made a million bucks, but springtime brought a drought
that caused what naught had done before: it dried her talent out!
June’s wart first shriveled, then flaked off and, like dust, blew away,
Forcing her to hack and cough, and leaving me to say:
Hip-hip-hoorah! The dang thing’s gone! It nearly ruined my life.
I couldn’t kiss June. Now I can. What’s best? She’s now my wife.
Edgar Allan Philpott, 75, of Pahoa, is phony itinerant poet, Wanda Sue Parrott. The poem was entered from Pahoa because she owned land in the shadow of the volcano near Black Sands Beach. She entered as Edgar Allan in order to put Hawaii on the map of Senior Poets Laureate in hopes of attracting bonafide entrants from Hawaii next year. Edgar is an Aquarian.