Torrent

It's that time of year again folks. No, not Christmas.


Like a nightmare it oozes forth,
Relentless and unwavering as it makes it dreaded march down one's top lip,
You can huff, shake your head, sniff and snort,
But nothing will stop it.

You open your visor,
Hoping to somehow discourage the passage of that salty liquid creeping forth from your nostrils,
The wind on your face only speeds its descent,
And now you can taste that sickly snot as it runs onto your mouth.

You spit and blow,
Only succeeding in splattering the inside of your helmet,
The mucus makes its way down, down, mercilessly,
Dribbling off your chin. Yuck.


It happens every year, I think. I get a cold and my nose just runs like a tap. Particularly horrible when riding my bike into work, as the above "poem" illustrates.