Why do I reach for the epipen every time I see you again?
These rashes you give can’t be right, but it happens every time on sight.
The tightness in my throat, the sweating of my palms, you’re a Crunchy Nut Cornflake hidden in the cereal box without qualms.
You make my teeth itch.
You make my eyes scratch.
You enlarge my thyroid.
My auto-immune system no longer recognises you and it’s killing me.
And *that’s* why I don’t write poetry.
It seemed to be a harmless little nut
I bit down on it with trepidation but
My thoat became constricted
My knees transformed to liquid
And stabbing pains tore right throughout my gut.
Hickory dickory brazil
These nuts are making me ill
There are bits in my teeth
It’s bad for my health
And something something nuts.