Dear Mr. Heart

As my brain walked down the sidewalk,
analyzing its antidotes for
chattering bones and shaking teeth,
he accidentally stumbled into some gum.

He decided his best bet
would be to call the stomach.
It, however, was not skilled in tumbling,
and thus was busy fighting nausea.

And so he decided to move on to the kidneys,
those cleansing, junk-ridding policemen.
They, however, were preoccupied with
cuffing a criminal known as Al Cohol.

'Perhaps the heart will be so kind,'
thought the brain, and so sent out a message:
'Dear Mr. Heart,
Would you be so kind as to help me out of a sticky situation?'

As a side note,
one must realize how very busy the heart is:
pumping, circulating, cleaning, recirculating-
being a general president over things.

With being president, however,
comes being both prepared and willing.
Mr. Heart promptly replied,
'Do not panic, dear sir.'

Sirens wailed, lights flashed:
The local police found my brain quickly.
'Please, sir, stay calm.
And for heavens sake, be still!'

And so the sticky playful pink was removed,
allowing my brain to continue its contemplation
of chattering bones and shaking teeth:
Never, of course, to reach an antidote.