Romeo Naces Poet Terza Rima

The Hypochondriac

Hey, bud, I see 
you've got this 
weird type of paranoia,

    fearfully believing 
    that all the  germs 
    are scheming to kill ya,

that's why you don't 
trust bottled water, 
not even tequila;

    and you rely so much 
    on the power 
    of  your disinfectant,

toward a slight smudge 
on the doorknob 
you're intolerant

    because to you it's 
    the plague 
    lying there lethally dormant;


nothing wrong with 
being sanitary, 
with being hygienic,

    but yours is a worrisome 
    worrying, bordering 
    on the psychotic,

soon you'll be scared 
of inhaling air, 
boy, that's gonna be tragic!

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