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Poem

I’ve always been a fit bloke and can’t remember when,
my last visit to a doctor was, and what for way back then.
I’ve always eaten what I liked and drank gallons of grog,
then had no fear of the morning, and a hair of the dog.

But just a week ago at a reunion at my club,
there was seafood, whisky; mountains of fast food grub,
and what a night it was, before I staggered down the street,
heading home and satisfied; the reunion felt complete.

Then with the morning, I felt like something wasn’t right,
for when I moved my left foot; something happened overnight.
My left big toe was very painful; I could not rest it on the floor,
so to make it to the kitchen it was quite a chore.

I tried retracing all my steps, from when I left the exit door,
to try and find the reason for, why my toe is so damn sore.
But try as hard as I might, I couldn’t get my mind to click,
even though I can’t remember, I must have kicked a brick.

I couldn’t stand the touch, of a sock, or shoe, or sheet.
I’ve got to have a broken toe; it’s so red and full of heat.
There was no way to relieve, the pain that’s killing me,
so it looks like a visit to a doctor, to see what it could be.

The doctor took one look at me and nodded his knowing head,
telling me I need to change my lifestyle or I won’t get out of bed.
It’s a bad case of podagra, something I’ve never heard about,
until he spoke my language; it’s a raging case of gout.

So to you fitness fanatics who think that you will be immune,
don’t take your eyes off the ball or you might sing a different tune.
I thought I was invinsible, and could indulge a stomach breakout,
and the last thing that I thought I’d suffer, was a case of gout.

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