Each inch of me is itchy.
My hands are wrapped in socks.
I don’t know where I found ’em but
I’ve caught the chicken pox.
It started with a tingle,
a single, itchy bump,
but now I’ve got a million more
(they’re even on my rump).
“Don’t ever, ever scratch ’em.”
That was the doctor’s word,
but frankly that’s the dumbest thing
I think I’ve ever heard.
All day I sit not scratching
and itch from dusk to dawn.
They prickle me. They tickle me.
I can’t wait till they’re gone.