Poem No. 5

Also, because I'm currently sick as a dog. I went scrolling through stuff I've written, and I found a poem that I wrote the last time I was sick which is about the poems I write when I'm sick. It isn't finished, but I'm not delirious enough to continue with its train of thought. And I don't think I ever will be.
It's very strange. And no, I don't understand why I called it "Poem No. 5." It's definitely not the fifth poem I've written. I think maybe I just liked the way it sounded. Or maybe I really did have some reasoning. Whatever; I'll never know. Here it is:

"Poem No. 5"

I get a little funny when I’m sick

I only write unusual things—

And by unusual I mean a little, well, ick.

I write ‘bout how it feels to be braless

I describe the jigglyness and relief.

I write about how my cat is still clawless—

Reading over it, I think, “Good grief!”

I write love poems that are more than a little odd—

Saying things like “I’d straighten my room for you,” “Your smile is as clean as soap,”

And “If you asked me to, I’d wash my hair only with pesticides for the rest of my life.”

I should probably stop.