Posted on

On the Neti Pot

O Splendid little neti pot:
When sinuses are overwrought
When nostrils are be-rimed with snot
Your wondrous fountains hit the spot.

With water neither cold nor hot
And head inclined til neck is taut
Like some strange peering ocelot
I take you like a god’s spigot.

Now some would claim your use is fraught
And risks cerebral fungal rot
But when I rise from my sick-cot
No other treatment have I sought.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *