Have a scab-picker living under your roof?

Imagine what would happen if instead of blood, loud music was released each time the body’s healing powers were interrupted. Here’s a poem about a young girl with a proclivity for picking scabs, and how her knee took it to the next level to stop her.

Dee Dee McGee and Her Musical Knee

Dee Dee McGee skinned her knee
while climbing up a sycamore tree.

She didn’t shout or even pout;
she checked the leg turned inside-out.

Gross and beastly, bloody, ghastly;
because it was hers, it wasn’t so nasty.

Her body went to work; the wound soon healed,
but good luck keeping that darn thing sealed.

Nothing could stop her fingers itching—
not Mom, nor doctors, nor medical stitchin’.

Risking infection and leg amputation!
she kept an organized scab-collation.

Until the morning she scratched a bleeder:
her knee sang out, “I’m a Believer.”

Of course, the song was unexpected indeed,
But now the wound became a musical bleed

Unclog your ears. You heard me right.
A Monkees tune is her new plight.

Now that her wound became a speaker.
Her urge to itch suddenly grew weaker.

But she still had to head off to school each day;
It blasted, “Not a trace of doubt in my mind!” Oh, the dismay.

Her ugly knee just wanted to rock,
so Dee Dee layered sock after sock.

It muffled the sound only a little,
puzzling the kids at Middletown Middle.

It sang, “I’m in love, and I’m a believer—
look at me, everyone, I’m Dee Dee’s femur!”

When magically, it crooned “I couldn’t leave her if I tried,”
was the moment she finally broke down and cried.

She had to stop and give scratching the boot.
If Dee Dee hoped to put her knee on mute

Until one day, there was nothing but scar,
She could finally tell it-  au revoir.

Dee Dee is wild, has broken many a bone,
But no matter how bloody, she leaves them alone.

– Christopher Rodgers (with inspriation from  his twin boys)