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Several years ago, I wrote a poem about my brother. It was inspired by the time that one of my friends came over when I was a teenager (my brother would have probably been somewhere between 8-10 years old). At one point he was chasing the two of us all over the house with a slimy finger that he had inserted and then pulled forth from his nose, booger dangling precariously on the end. I finally locked myself in the bathroom to get away from him but not before I saw him put said finger in his mouth. I promptly vomited.

I have been working on a book of children’s poetry off and on over the past few years and the plan is to draw pictures to go along with them. I was looking through the bits and pieces that I currently have. This one is just too fun not to share now (sorry, Allen)….

My Brother Eats Boogers

My brother eats boogers
it makes me quite sick
I run away screaming
when he starts to pick.

His nostrils are large
where his fingers poke through –
he pulls them out smiling,
all covered with goo.

Then into his mouth
he inserts the slime
(Feel the need to vomit?
Now is the time).

Because there on his tongue
with a smack and a gulp
his spit forces down
the green, lumpy pulp.

I gag and I heave
(he thinks that’s quite funny).
And, he prays for the days
when he finds his nose runny.

Other than that
I guess he’s all right.
But, if he doesn’t stop soon
on some quiet night…

I will sneak in his room
(my clever plan goes)
and while he is sleeping
I will stop up his nose.

(He can breathe out of his mouth, right?)

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