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 little bit pout.
She inspected her leg turned Inside-out

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

Her body went to work and the wound soon healed.
But good luck keeping that darn thing sealed.

Nothing could stop her finger from itchin,
Not mom, nor doctors or medical stitchin

Daring infection, and leg amputation,
Organized she was with her scab collation.

Until the morning she scratched a bleeder.
Her knee sung out I’m a believer.

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

Unclog your ears. You heard me right.
A song by the Monkees, became her new plight.

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

When she couldn’t skip school as she was so inclined.
It played.  Not a Trace of doubt in my mind.

Her ugly knee wanted to rock.
So Dee Dee layered sock after sock.

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

It sung I’m in love, and I’m a believer.
     Look at me everyone, I’m Dee Dee’s femur.

Magically it crooned I couldn’t leave her if I tried,
     Was the moment she broke down and finally 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 and has broken many a bone,
But no matter how bloody, she leaves them alone.

 

– Christopher Rodgers (with help from his twin boys)