The first time it really hits me, I'm staring at the peeling paint on the doorknob.
I long ago memorized the feeling of coming home – the click of my key in the door, the scent of Mom's stir fry on
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(though not because of the cold).
‘Cause noses flow like a river,
And I face a terror untold.
They yank and they yank without a pause
Unaware of the horror they cause me.
Just wash your hands!
It’ll protect your glands,
And save a poor box some therapy.
The sound they make, a horrendos A-CHOO!
Warns me that I’m about to be used.
I wish I could fight,
I better find a flight
That’ll take me to sweet TImbuktu.