Here's a prescription from the Doctor <br />That addresses with candor, <br />The problem you possess; <br />A cure for your endless distress. <br /> <br />Pink pills and red ones to be taken at once <br />Perhaps with water or liquor by choice. <br />Just swallow them down with a grimace <br />And you'll be able the problem to face. <br /> <br />If you miss a dose as intended <br />Your problem's compounded. <br /> <br />Better to take them pink then red <br />For the reverse will be a problem to dread. <br />For then you'll be plagued with writer's revenge <br />When there is a tingling and a poetry binge. <br />Words will gush forth without much ado <br />And there is little that you can do. <br />When paper and pens are all out <br />The computer's use will continue the rout. <br /> <br />Of course the problem is, dear Debbie, <br />The Doctor's own writing, you see <br />Is in Latin with many a medical term <br />That would make a Tequila worm squirm. <br /> <br />Doc's afflicted with another writing disease <br />It's billing the customers as much as he please. <br />So he can retire to his island in the sun <br />Where he'll ignore the misery of one. <br /> <br />Oh, yes. He forgot to tell you that there is a cure <br />Of the malady that you endure. <br />Your use the Internet for days unended, <br />Has your problem compounded. <br />As your mind grows fertile from the cursor moving there <br />And words come freely as if from the air <br />They encroach on the white space and in a straight line <br />As if they are intended to make good rhyme. <br /> <br />Turn off the computer and ignore the phone bill <br />For that's what has been making you ill. <br />Then at life's end you'll see <br />That nothing is actually — free.<br /><br />Sidi J. Mahtrow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/debbie-bennett-s-terrible-disease/
