Bad Cold by Shel Silverstein

  This cold is too much for my shortsleeve. Go get me a Kleenex--and fast. I sniffle and wheeze And I'm ready to sneeze And I don't know how long I can last.... Atchoo--it's to wet for a kleenex, So bring me handkerchief, quick. It's--atchoo--no joke, Now the handkerchief's soaked. Hey, a dish towel just might do the trick. Atchoo--it's too much for bath towel. There never has been such a cold. I'll be better off With that big tablecloth, No--bring me the flag off the pole. Atchoo--bring the clothes from the closet, Atchaa--get the sheets from the bed, The drapes off the window, The rugs off the floor To soak up this cold in my head. Atchoo-- hurry down to the circus And ask if they'll lend you the tent. You say they said yes? Here it comes--Lord be blessed-- Here it is--Ah-kachoooo--there it went.

My Mailbox

Know what's in my mailbox? Nothin'.

Well, that’s not true.

Bills. Ads.

That’s what's in my mailbox.

Found a bird’s nest in my mailbox once . . . actually, it was in the newspaper box underneath the mailbox. I'm surprised the mail-man never said anything about it. But he's not the paper-boy, so not his problem I guess. And I don't get a newspaper. Should I be surprised that nobody noticed it at all, for as long as it was there? Anyway, the nest is not there anymore. 

Actually, he's not a mailman 'cause he's a she. She's the mail-woman. 

That sounds weird.

I get no mail unless I order something, subscribe to something. In other words, I don’t get anything unless I send it to myself--or someone wants my money.

That's what's in my mailbox. 

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