While cutting bread, young Bonk P. Blinger
Slipped the knife and cut his finger
“Ow, gosh darn it!” Blinger said
And his finger promptly bled
Bloody drops from finger fell
Each as red as flames from Hell
Blinger’s blood, bright fiery red
Landed on the piece of bread
And this arose in Blinger’s thoughts:
“Teehee! The bread’s got chicken pox!”
He stared some more at those red dots
That looked so much like chicken pox
And saw, with awe, that each drop spread
Until the thick white piece of bread
Was soggy with the blood; as such
Poor Blinger thought: “I bled that much?!”
But no, the blood did not stop there
It soaked the table, and the chair
It soaked the sink, it soaked the floor
The blood was spreading more and more
“I only bled some drops!” Bonk cried.
“The blood, it seems, has multiplied!
In fact, I guess, it looks to me
From several drops arose a sea!”
And Bonk was right—‘cause soon his blood
Became a veritable flood
It rose right up to Blinger’s chin
And so he swam to save his skin
Swam out into the streets, but there
He saw that blood was everywhere
“No hope!” he cried, “There’s no escape!”
And he began to suffocate
So that the blood from his own finger
Drowned the sorry Bonk P. Blinger
(Except, of course, this is a lie…
Don’t worry, Blinger didn’t die
There was no cut; no blood did fall
He didn’t hurt himself at all
It never entered in his thoughts
That his white bread had chicken pox
He didn’t drown in blood; instead
He merely ate his piece of bread.)
