Erupting sprays of grubby spores
Discharging from my Nasal cleft
infective panic chaos manic
No healthy airspace left
Screams of “did you have to mate”
As I reeled weak kneed from shock
No chance I had to hold it back
Every stiffened limb in lock
I stumbled through like Quasimodo
Bumping shoulders spilling drinks
Spluttering drooling dripped apologies
As more eruptions scaled their brinks
“Oh My God make way, make way”
The hostess bellowed in disgust
Then I skidded on a sliding cube
More like a raging bull in must
With streaming eyes and breathlessness
I now began to cough and wheeze
I seized a passing waiter’s cloth
Then blew the tray with one last sneeze
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