Sunday, February 18, 2007

#301: February 18, 2007

"Jim King the Iron Stomach," read the sheet,
and what a show that eater gave the town!
Starting with week-warm milk and rancid meat,
he'd open up and hand the foul stuff down.

Next Jim chewed light bulbs, razorblades and tin;
he washed them down with some acidic stew.
And always smiled, the blood slick down his chin,
shards in his gums--and how, nobody knew.

Then one off-season, Jim took ill and died.
Food poisoning, of all things, don't you know!
Trichinosis--pork inexpertly fried
fermented in his guts and laid him low.

So take this lesson from poor old Jim King:
you can't inure yourself to everything.


middleclasstool said...

I wonder what the inspiration was for this one?

Anonymous said...

"There was a Boy whose name was Jim" by Belloc, I'm sure. Have you read his sonnets?