I feel alike to hosts of boils,
fevers and an alkaline rash.
A viscous scrub with bristle brush
can't rid me of this filthy sway.
A scream unclean as I draw nearer
to the town and county squares and posts;
fled away from, maybe spat on,
and left so wary of heels-a-patter.
I'll shield myself beneath the cover
of many hoods all different colors,
and hope that none may catch a glimpse
of me beneath in a festering cloud.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Boo hoo woe is me blah blah.

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