Stephen’s dad used to be the Administrator of a nursing home and assisted living facility. When Stephen was in high school, he would work at the home in the summer and after school. During the course of his employment, he ran across a semi-famous resident – the great-granddaughter of Edgar Allen Poe. I have no idea how she ended up in North Dakota assisted living, but there she was.
When Stephen knew her, she had developed a rash on her stomach. He found out about the rash when she described what happened with her doctor.
Doctor – How’s the rash?
Patient – Not good.
Doctor – Have you been using the cream I gave you?
Patient – Yes, but it tastes terrible.
Once she started rubbing the cream on instead of ingesting it, the rash went away.
In honor of her predicament and her famous great-grandfather, I’ve written this short poem.
On my stomach I was itching, using cream that should be fixing
A long time sore that I kept picking like selecting new decor.
So I ate the icky cream and I thought that I would scream
From the itching and the scratching on my core.
Then the doctor, I remember, said to rub it on the sore.
And if I do? Quoth the doctor, ‘Never more’.
May the farce be with you!