heliopsis

plumtreeblossom posted today about her unexpected ability to identify coworkers by their emunctory sounds. This reminded me that I had written a sonnet about my disappointing mutant power some months ago, as a contribution to the ironpoet. Since the poem also pertains to cold and flu season, I thought I would reprint it here.

My Disappointing Mutant Power
Upon the plane, each wretched passenger
Strove to outdo his neighbour with his wheeze
And cough and hack and rattle, gasp and sneeze.
Arriving in Chicago, I'd have burned
My clothes, except it was too cold. Instead
I rushed to wash my hands of all the germs.

What's this? No taps; just spouts above the sinks.
I see a man place hands beneath the pipe
And out spouts water. Ah! Electric eyes
Unblinking, activate the cleansing flow.
Now I try. Hands stay dry: there is no motion.
Contented is the eye behind its portal.
My mutant power's a bust. I am unseen
By O'Hare airport restroom tap machines.